


Love Me

by sinplicity



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Affection, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Carnival, Eddie Lives, Enemies to Lovers, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, Kinda, M/M, Minor Violence, No Singularity, Roommates, Slow Burn, The Rogues - Freeform, UST, barry is a lovesick idiot, barry physically cannot leave len's side, len feels like the world is laughing at him, minor consent issues, pretend!boyfriends, sort of au after season 1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-26
Updated: 2017-04-19
Packaged: 2018-05-23 08:15:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 76,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6110555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinplicity/pseuds/sinplicity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A meta-human with Cupid-like powers whammies Barry to fall in love with the first person he sees. Just his luck it happened to be Captain Cold.</p><p>(“He hasn’t let go of me for almost an hour,” says Len, focusing his steel on Cisco, who shrinks considerably.</p><p>“’Cause I love you,” says Barry beside him, his teeth gleaming as he grins. He tries to kiss Len again—god, the seventh time?)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello friends! this story was born because i was having coldflash fluff withdrawals and badly needed them to be affectionate boyfriends. but you know how stubborn they are--i had to whammy one of them!   
> i hope you enjoy this; there's still lots to go.

For the record, Len wasn’t planning on stealing anything.

Not tonight, anyway.

He was merely taking a stroll around Central City. Who’s to say it’s suspicious that he _happened_ to be walking in a circle around the museum? And so what if he had on his full Captain Cold gear with his gun tucked under his parka?

Maybe it was chilly out and he had a soft spot for modern art.

Len’s eyes scan the back doors of the museum again before checking his watch. In the span of an hour and fifteen minutes, he’s seen employees enter and exit twice. The curator had left first at eight p.m., with the cleaning crew entering at nine. He stores this information for later.

As soon as he’s memorized the location of the cameras, he breaks his route to head home, satisfied with his progress today. He breathes deeply, welcoming the chill in his lungs. He hadn’t been lying; he enjoyed his walks and the fresh air. Whether he wanted to multitask and case a place for a heist was his own business. Nothing could bring his calm mood down.

That is, until he hears a giant crash from the main entrance.

Len has the cold gun charged and aimed in a split second. He slowly makes his way to the front, keeping his back pressed close to the wall. He gathers a deep breath, and then whips out, gun pointed at…

“Flash?” he hisses, his eyebrows furrowing before he controls his features to his usual hard shell.

The speedster is still struggling to get to his feet when his head snaps up. “ _Cold?_ ” He looks he’d taken a tumble, though his face is incredulous under the cowl. “What are you doing here?”

Len cocks an eyebrow. He powers down his gun and rests it against his shoulder, smirk spreading on his lips. “On a late night stroll,” he drawls casually, gesturing broadly. He studies the man-shaped dent in the museum sign and the tears in the speedster’s suit. “What about you? Who took you for a test drive?”

The other man doesn’t look amused. “There’s a meta on the run,” he says once he’s finished rolling his eyes at Len. “She just caught me off guard a few miles back. She’s armed and dangerous so… Be careful.”

Len tips his head, intrigued. That isn’t something he hears every day, not unless he includes Lisa’s usual threat to skin Len if he ever comes back harmed after a job. Still, Len just can’t help himself. “Ah, worried about me, Barry?”

“It’s my job to worry about everyone, criminals included,” Barry shoots back, almost defensively. He dusts his suit off, wincing a bit as he bends his elbows.

“So you admit it,” says Len. He thinks he sees Barry’s cheeks turning pink, but it could be a trick of the lights. His smirk spreads wider. “Always knew you had a soft spot for me.”

“Shut up, Snart,” the speedster mutters, but there’s no animosity behind it despite his look of annoyance. “And don’t even think about trying to steal anything tonight,” he warns.

Len raises a daring eyebrow. He almost wants to march into the museum, cold gun blazing, just to spite him. Almost. “Would you rather I help you catch your precious meta?” he offers playfully.

Barry’s eyes turn hard at that. “No, thanks,” he declines with a tight jaw. “I’ve learned my lesson.”

So he’s still mad about that. Surely the kid had to have seen what was wrong with months of solitary confinement for people who never asked for their powers. It doesn’t matter that he _planned_ to rehabilitate them—what matters is how long the prisoners had to endure that private prison. It worked out for Len, anyway, like it always does. He has new additions to his crew that owe him their lives.

“Already giving up on me? That’s a shame,” Len muses for the sake of teasing, but really, it isn’t all that surprising. Eventually, people just realize that Len isn’t worth their time or effort.

He watches as emotions flit across the other man’s face—surprise, anger, pity, ending on defiance.

“I’m never gonna—” Barry starts, but he stops himself as his hand raises to his ear. “What, Cisco? _Here?_ ” It’s like a switch goes off and Barry’s body automatically tenses in defense. His head whips this way and that, alert.

“What?” asks Len, finding himself mimicking the other.

Barry turns his eyes to Len before scanning the area behind him. “You need to go,” he orders, and he seems to really think Len is going to obey him. Cute.

“The meta?” guesses Len, and Barry nods slowly. He charges his gun again. “Great.”

“Are you insane?”

“I can take care of myself.”

Barry clenches his jaw stubbornly. “You really want to get into this right now?”

“I can dance all day, Barry,” Len says, flashing him a crooked grin.

“You’re so—” He starts, but he cuts himself off as a thin screech sounds in the air. Len blinks and finds himself on the floor with Barry hovering over him. Adrenaline shoots through Len’s veins as he jumps to his feet. There’s an arrow where Len had been standing, though it's angled weird like it was meant for…

“Barry, duck!” he shouts as he reaches for his cold gun and fires in the direction the arrow had shot from. He hears a high pitched giggle echo through the trees.

“Cisco!” Barry yells into his communication system. “Arrows! She’s shooting arrows!”

Len scans the area, cold gun poised and following his eyes. Another screech. He drops to the floor and narrowly misses an arrow through the neck. He sends short blasts at every small sound as Barry argues with Cisco.

“You want me to _what_?” Barry dodges a series of three arrows, all aimed for his chest. “I’m a little busy! Okay, okay, hold on…”

When he looks back at Barry, he sees him reaching for the arrow. Before his fingers can wrap around it, however, the arrow erupts in a puff of pink smoke, and Barry’s hand clutches at nothing.

“What the…?” He looks back at Len, but Len isn’t able to offer any kind of explanation. Barry’s breath catches, his eyes widening, and there’s the telltale screeching of one, two, three arrows behind Len, only, Len knows it’s too late. He turns anyway, his world slowing down to a crawl, and a red blur fills his vision before his breath leaves him.

His back hits the floor roughly, his head cracking against the cement. A groan escapes him, his vision spinning. It takes him a moment, but he forces himself up onto his elbows. His eyes finally land on Barry, who’s still standing, though swaying lightly.

“Scarlet?” he groans, blinking the focus back into his eyes. He sees two arrows pinned to the ground, both a considerably close distance from him, before he lets his eyes snap back to the other man.

Barry’s shaking hand pats up his stomach until he reaches the middle of his chest where—

Len feels the blood drain from his face. “Barry,” he gasps, scrambling over the same time Barry collapses to his knees.

Barry’s hand is still wrapped around the arrow sticking from his chest, right through the Flash emblem. He sucks in a stuttering breath as Len catches him by the shoulders, his eyes fluttering.

“Hey, hey, stay with me!” he demands, but there’s no response.

This isn’t happening. The Flash is _not_ dying; he can’t die, damn it, not when there are still games to be played, plans to try to foil, and nemeses to taunt and be a general pain in the ass to. Len is not letting him off this easily.

Barry sags limply in Len’s arms, his face pressed into his chest. Len fires angrily into the trees, large ribbons of ice coating their surroundings before he hears a high pitched scream followed by an angry howl. He hears the trees shake again, but it’s distant, like the attacker is retreating, or maybe just making him think she is.

It’s silent for a long moment. Len holsters his gun and finally turns Barry carefully to examine him.

Barry’s eyes are shut, but he’s still breathing; that’s good.

Len examines the wound closer, his fingers gently skimming the torn suit, over the shattered emblem, only to realize… there’s no blood. There should be blood on both sides; the arrowhead is so sharp, but there is nothing, not even an entry wound. It’s strange, but Len knows strange, and he’s seen stranger.

Len doesn’t exactly know the proper first aid for an arrow through the chest, but he sure as hell know it’s better than letting it stay in there, especially if Barry heals faster than the average man. His hand makes to grab the arrow, but the next thing he knows, he’s grasping at nothing. The same pink smoke dances through the air, curling through his fingers. Len doesn’t know what to think of that, not right now, not when the meta could still be lurking. He gathers Barry in his arms and forces himself to his feet, darting down the path hidden by the broken streetlamps.

A part of Len had expected Barry to be much heavier, assuming his powers had to have some kind of physical weight, but it’s fitting seeing as he has the body of a runner. He zig-zags through the city, taking turns often, not really following a straight line. His arms begin to strain after a few blocks, but the coast is clear. There hadn’t been anyone following him. If the meta had pursued him when he had left, then she would have taken a shot by now. Len slows down, breathing heavily. He takes in the empty street, the closed store fronts, the flickering streetlamp, before deeming it (relatively) safe. He readjusts Barry as he makes his way to a bus stop with a bench. Barry stirs in his arms, groaning lightly.

“Scarlet,” Len says, peering down at the man, “I’m going to put you down, all right?”

He doesn’t wait for a reply, just gently lays Barry down on the bench. He flexes his arms and stretches them, immediately feeling the cramps. The yellow light of the streetlamp illuminates Barry’s face, allowing Len to see clear enough to examine him. He carefully peels back the cowl, a gentle hand cradling his head. Barry’s disheveled hair pokes out at every angle and Len is unable to stop himself from combing his fingers through the soft, brown locks.

Barry groans again, less pained this time, before his eyes begin to flutter open. His eyes are unfocused, staring blankly above them.

Rather than standing over Barry, Len takes a seat beside Barry’s hip on the bench. This seems to startle Barry; his hand immediately shoots out, grabbing Len’s shirt collar, his legs kicking out in alarm.

Len stops his reflex to snap Barry’s arm and instead places his hands on Barry’s shoulder, squeezing gently. “Hey, it’s just me,” he says. Barry blinks up at him, his eyes locking on Len’s.

Len sucks in a sharp breath, watching Barry’s pupils ripple. It can’t be a trick of the lights this time, it just can’t be. Len watches in stunned silence as the black of Barry’s pupils spread two points upward and one downwards in a… a heart?

“What… the hell?” murmurs Len. His hand finds Barry’s cheek to press a thumb under his eye, moving in to inspect more closely. It’s only a few more seconds before Barry’s pupils widen back to their normal shape before the man blinks at him.

Len remembers to close his mouth. He clears his throat gently, adding this on his growing list of strange things to happen in this city. “You okay there, Scarlet?” he asks gruffly.

Barry’s still watching him, his breathing thin, though his hand is loosening on Len’s shirt. He studies Len, very intensely he might add, and it would be unnerving had Len not learned to stand his ground.

Len is used to people giving him all sorts of looks—looks of disdain, contempt, fear… but this? This is something different. This is new. Barry’s looking at him in amazement, in wonder, as if someone like Len couldn’t possibly be real. Len isn’t used to this. This is so damn strange, and why does stuff like this always happen to him? Frankly, it is far from fair—

“You’re so beautiful,” Barry whispers.

Why doesn’t this happen to Mick or Lisa? It just seems like the world is laughing at—

His mind screeches to stop, finally processing Barry’s words.

It’s silent for a long moment. Barry’s still studying his face like he’s been blind his whole life and suddenly had the gift to see. Len doesn’t understand. He hates not understanding. Leave it to Barry Allen, nerd extraordinaire and lapdog of the CCPD, to knock Len on his ass and over about ten times.

“You just had an arrow in your chest,” Len says finally, because what the hell else is he supposed to say following _that?_

Barry doesn’t seem to be listening. He sits up suddenly, their faces just inches apart. Len automatically tries to move back, but finds he’s trapped by a hand behind his neck.

“I can’t believe it… After all this time, I should’ve known,” Barry murmurs, his other hand releasing Len’s shirt to stroke his cheek lightly.

Len is stunned. Baffled. Dumbfounded. He can practically feel the giant question marks bouncing around in his brain. “What’s wrong with you?” Len tries to demand, but his voice wavers slightly and he hates himself for it.

Barry’s eyes are all big and honest, emotion flooded deep within them. “I love you,” Barry declares. The words are loud in the quiet street, seeming to bounce off the brick walls and store fronts and into Len’s head to shatter any last ounce of coherency.

Something’s not right.

Barry leans in closer to Len, his eyes fluttering closed, his lips pursing and—Len realizes with a start that Barry’s actually trying to _kiss_ him. A strange feeling flutters in the pit of Len’s stomach before he stomps on it hard and rips himself from Barry’s hold.

Something’s _definitely_ not right.

Normal people don’t go around confessing their love for Leonard Snart, _especially_ not his super powered nemeses. Barry looks a little hurt at Len’s rejection, his eyebrows pulling together, his sinful green eyes pleading. He gets up from the bench slowly, no sign of his earlier damage save for the slight wobble in his step.

“I’m sorry, I just—I love you so much,” Barry tries to explain, his hands held out defensively, like Len is some kind of skittish animal.

“Stop saying that,” Len grits out. It’s a _lie_ and heroes aren’t supposed to lie, especially not Barry Allen of all people.

“But I do love you!”

Len presses his palm against his temple, trying to soothe the headache he knows is coming, as he paces around the sidewalk. This is what happens when Len tries to play hero. It just doesn’t work out for anyone.

Barry is clearly out of his mind. He doesn’t even know what he’s saying, not to mention what he’s _doing_. Len’s eyes travel to the Flash emblem on the suit.

The arrow.

It was the arrow. It must have done something to him; the fact that it left no mark on him and erupted in pink smoke alone were red flags.

“Barry,” he says, suddenly remembering it’s important to ask. He ignores the way Barry immediately stands straighter, his stupid grin flashing. “Are you hurt? Do you feel any pain?”

Barry hums to himself, his face glowing like Len’s attention is all he needs to live. “No. I feel fine. Even better because you’re here.” Barry grins and flashes forward, attaching himself to Len’s arm.

“Hey!” Len barks, attempting to shake the man off his arm, but Barry only giggles and tightens his grip in an octopus-hold.

This is bad. Really bad.

Barry’s still in full Flash regalia, acting completely unFlash-like, cuddling up to Leonard Snart of all people in a dangerous part of town. Len curses to himself. He scans the street before pulling them both to the alley behind the bus stop.

He wiggles out of Barry’s grip and presses him into the wall. “Barry, listen to me,” Len starts, keeping their eyes locked.

Barry giggles, his cheeks slightly flushed. He’s practically preening under the direct attention. “I’m listening,” he nearly sings, but he’s such a damn liar.

Len continues anyway, needing to say what needs to be said. “Something happened to you back there. I think the meta’s powers—”

He feels Barry’s fingers teasingly walking up Len’s stomach, causing him to shiver slightly. He grabs Barry’s wrist and pins it above the man’s head.

“As I was _saying_ , we need to find out what were in those arrows, or even what kind of powers—”

Barry’s using his other hand to try to touch Len’s face before Len has both wrists pinned above him.

“Barry!” he growls, his patience growing incredibly thin. “Are you listening to me? I am not going to let this be the reason I win. So you’re going to sit down and shut up while I track down your team—”

“So sexy when you’re angry,” he nearly moans.

“—and then they’re going to fix you so we can get back to normal.” Len is practically nose to nose with him when he’s finished. He can see the flecks of hazel in Barry’s eyes. “Got it?”

They’re so close together that Len can feel Barry’s light pants. He tries not to notice how soft Barry’s lips look. They’re just lips. Just normal lips that belong to an awfully mouthy superhero who won’t stop looking at Len like he’s an all-you-can-eat buffet. His eyes are impossibly dark, half-lidded, yet challenging Len, and oh, that look is dangerous. Before Len can pull away, Barry tilts his chin up to bridge the gap between them, and their lips connect.

Something shoots down Len’s spine, something that feels suspiciously like electricity, and—fuck, Len was right. Barry’s lips are so, so soft. The press of their lips are tentative at first, gauging the other’s reaction. It’s new, strange, exploring, amazing, addicting… Barry’s lips part in a quiet gasp as Len gently bites his bottom lip before he soothes it with his tongue. Barry’s lips open more fully, their shared breaths hot. Len surges forward then, unable to continue at the torturous pace. He needs it faster, harder. He presses into Barry, releasing Barry’s wrists to settle a hand on his waist and the other on his neck. He holds Barry’s face as he changes the angle, so he can taste even deeper, his tongue stroking Barry’s just so, earning him the most delicious moan and—shit.

Len pulls back abruptly, both of them panting harshly, a thin string of saliva connecting their lips. Before Len can think to say anything, Barry leans forward to flick his tongue against Len’s bottom lip, breaking the string. A sharp stab of arousal shoots down Len’s body, but Len focuses on holding Barry back by his shoulders. They both stare into each other’s eyes, with Len confused and Barry yearning for him to continue… but this isn’t right.

Whatever hit him, it’s affecting Barry and he isn’t entirely himself right now. The normal Barry Allen would rather freeze to death than kiss him. This Barry Allen, however, is naïve and practically drunk on love. Len may be a criminal, but he has morals, and he isn’t going to take advantage of the situation.

“We can’t do this,” Len rasps, but he isn’t sure if he’s trying to convince Barry or himself. Maybe both.

“Why not?” pouts Barry, and it would have been amusing if his lips weren’t red and bitten, slightly wet. Len forces his eyes back up.

He can’t think right now, not in this dirty alley and certainly not with Barry looking like _that,_ so utterly debauched _._ He needs to look at all his options, think of every scenario.

“Come on,” says Len. “I have a safe house a few blocks down.”

x

It’s strange to have Barry—the _Flash_ —in a place that Len uses to lay low after his criminal escapades. The walk there only took about ten minutes, but regardless, Barry literally could not keep his hands off of Len the whole way there. He had to dodge about five kisses, all landing somewhere on his body like his neck and jaw and even collarbone. The cold air had done him some good, made his mind clearer and his willpower stronger.

Still, Len isn’t completely immune to Barry’s touches; after all, he is only a man. He isn’t an idiot, or blind. He knows Barry is attractive in his own right. Regardless, his brain rules over his desire and he knows that this isn’t the time or place to indulge in his lust.

Len struggles to unlock the door. It’s a seemingly impossible task when Barry’s so intent on keeping both of his hands intertwined with his own.

“Barry, you get one hand!” he growls again—yes, _again_ , because Barry is insufferable. “Not both!”

Barry makes a noise of loss as he releases one of Len’s hands so he can actually use it to unlock the door. The fact that Len’s letting Barry hold even one of his hands is an amazing feat within itself; Barry should be honored, the ungrateful bastard.

The air is stale inside the apartment, though it’s expected because it’s been weeks since Len has last been here. He makes it all of three steps to close the door before both of his hands are taken again.

Len glowers at Barry, his fingers twitching towards his cold gun.

Barry pouts and gazes at him with his big doe eyes. “I just love you so much, I want to be close to you,” he tries to plead.

“You need to stop saying that,” Len grumbles. He drags them both to the center of the room, his hands feeling too hot that he shakes Barry off, though now his chest feels too cold. “I’m going to get you fixed, and then we can both forget any of this ever happened.”

“You can’t kiss me like that and expect me to forget about it.” Then Barry sighs dreamily, like he’s replaying the events from the alley. Len tries to act like he isn’t doing the same.

“That was a mistake,” Len says. A wonderful, mind-blowing, perfect mistake. “It won’t happen again.”

Barry has the nerve to grin and say, “Liar.”

“You are infuriating, Barry.” Len grinds his teeth together. “I have half a mind to choke you and be done with this.”

Barry’s grin turns wolfish. “You can do what you want. We’re boyfriends, after all.”

Len doesn’t _sputter_ , he just can’t decide between yelling at Barry and laughing at how ridiculous the situation is. “Barry, you don’t know what you’re saying right now, so I’m going to ignore you.”

Barry’s face drops. He reaches for Len again, but Len marches on to pace around the room.

He can’t just ditch Barry and leave him somewhere for another, less forgiving criminal to pick up. The Flash in the wrong hands can possibly destroy the city that Len loves so much.

Yet, he can’t deny the temptation of endless possibilities of thievery, the perfect crimes that await if Len can convince Barry to steal, to _rob_ for him.

That idea is promptly tossed out the window in distaste. Barry is still a hero at heart, no matter what his current number one interest is right now (Len), and Len doesn’t think it’ll be all that rewarding to succeed with a heist if the Flash can’t even bother to stop him. After all, Len likes the challenge, and without the challenge, there’s no thrill. And though Len is used to doing whatever he wants, he knows he will grow bored and tired without someone there to try to best him.

“Your communication system,” Len starts, “are they still working?”

“No,” says Barry, pressing against his destroyed emblem lightly. “It short-circuited.”

“Give me your phone, then,” Len orders, but Barry only blinks at him. “Phone, Barry.”

“I don’t carry my phone with me,” he says, amused. “Where would I put it?”

Len feels his eyes drifting down Barry’s body, taking in the skin-tight suit before he closes his eyes briefly to gather himself. “Do you remember your team’s number?”

“Yeah, Cisco’s,” he says. His eyes flicker to the phone Len offers him. “You want me to…? Oh, okay.”

He quickly programs the number into the phone—it’s a burner, so Len isn’t worried—before pressing the phone back into Len’s hands. He lets their fingers brush without subtlety.

**To Cisco:**

**Got your speedster. He’s fine, but the meta hit him. I’m going over. Fix him. Or else.**

**-Cold**

There is an immediate response.

**From Cisco:**

**Bring him NOW!**

**From Cisco:**

**I mean, please…**

Len slips the phone back into his pocket, regarding Barry carefully. “Are you okay to run?” he asks. “We’re going to S.T.A.R. Labs.”

Barry grins ear to ear. “’Course I am!” He throws his arms around Len, nuzzling into him for a long moment before the world around them blurs.

Len finds himself blinking at too-white walls. His stomach churns with nausea and he swallows thickly. He’s never going to get used to that.

“Barry!”

Len turns to find a woman, Dr. Snow, followed by Cisco. Dr. Snow stops abruptly, her face paling at seeing Len. Understandable, considering he _had_ kidnapped her, but really he wasn’t going to hurt her. He only needed her for leverage. Of course, she could never know that.

“Hey, guys!” greets Barry happily, still wrapped up around Len. Len merely stands there, staring intently at the pair, as Barry noses under his jaw.

“Barry, are you okay?” Dr. Snow asks. Her eyes flicker between Barry and Len. Barry ignores her in favor of nuzzling into Len’s neck.

“What’s—” Cisco gulps, addressing Len now, hiding behind his tablet. “What’s wrong with him?”

“His vitals spiked for a full minute,” says Dr. Snow quietly, her fingers twitching like she wants to reach for the fire extinguisher and threaten Len with it.

“He hasn’t let go of me for almost an hour,” says Len, focusing his steel on Cisco, who shrinks considerably.

“’Cause I love you,” says Barry, his teeth gleaming as he grins. He moves to kiss Len again—god, the seventh time?

Len puts a hand to Barry’s chest and steps back to separate them. They aren’t going to get anywhere if Barry can’t control himself. Still, Barry makes a noise at the loss. Len holds him at bay, but Barry continues to reach for him anyway, his arms outstretched like a child reaching for his favorite toy.

Dr. Snow’s and Cisco’s eyes are wide.

“L-love?” Dr. Snow chokes out, horror washing over her face. “Barry, you know who this is, right?”

Barry laughs. “’Course. My boyfriend!”

“I’m not your boyfriend,” Len says at the same time Cisco and Dr. Snow say, “He’s not your boyfriend!”

“But I love him,” Barry sighs happily, still reaching for Len, “and he loves me.”

“I don’t love you,” Len says at the same time Cisco and Dr. Snow say, “He doesn’t love you!”

Barry grabs the hand on his chest and playfully bites at Len’s index finger. Len flicks him on the nose.

“Scarlet, you’re being a tad bit annoying,” sighs Len. Tired of the reaching and fumbling, Len spins Barry around and holds him against his chest. At least this way, Barry can’t try to kiss him.

Barry drops his head back onto Len’s shoulder and hums, utterly delighted.

“See, you do love me,” says Barry, nuzzling into Len’s jaw.

Len rolls his eyes and settles on a scowl.

“Are you seeing this?” Len asks incredulously. Dr. Snow has a faint blush on her cheeks while Cisco, for the first time, is at a loss for words.

“What happened out there?” asks Dr. Snow. “We lost communication with him.”

“The meta human,” says Len. “Her arrows disappeared in pink smoke. One hit Barry.”

“Pink smoke?” Cisco prompts, and Len nods. “Interesting…”

Dr. Snow raises a halting hand, her eyebrows furrowed. “Hold on, you’re saying one _hit_ Barry? Why isn’t he wounded?”

“It slipped out of my hands,” says Barry casually, swaying in Len’s arms to a silent song. Everyone’s eyes are on him now.

“What do you mean ‘it slipped’?” Dr. Snow presses. She looks frustrated at Barry’s nonchalance. Great, that makes two of them.

Barry lifts his shoulders up and releases them in a great shrug. “I tried to grab it to stop it, but my hand went right through it.”

Cisco’s deep in concentration as he flits through his tablet while Dr. Snow steps closer to Barry.

“Barry, I’m going to run some tests on you, okay?”

Barry’s still humming to himself, frankly enjoying himself too much in Len’s arms. Dr. Snow and Len exchange glances, her eyes colder than Len’s could ever be, and after a nod, Len releases Barry.

Barry freezes before he turns abruptly, utter betrayal written on his face.

“All right, I guess my work here is done,” begins Len, watching more and more horror fall on Barry’s face.

“You can’t—you’re not… _leaving me_ , are you?” Barry asks, almost whines. His eyes are desperate, pleading.

“Just what do you expect me to do?” Len’s asking seriously, his eyebrow cocked. Surely the man doesn’t expect Len to stay by his side forever. The idea is ridiculous for so many reasons.

“Stay by my side forever?” Barry suggests, his lips quirked in a smile.

Len stares at him, but Barry continues to look hopeful.

Holy crap, he’s serious!

“Sorry, Flash,” he says, his mouth twisting in amusement. He turns his attention to Cisco and Dr. Snow. “Let me know if I need to find a new superhero to fight,” he says with a noncommittal wave of his hand before turning away.

“Baby, wait!” cries Barry, but Len continues walking. It’s just his damn luck his life turned into some kind of soap opera. He’s barely made it to the cortex exit, one foot barely passing the threshold, before he hears a small thump behind him.

“Barry!” gasps Dr. Snow. “Oh my god!”

Len whips around in time to see Barry swaying on his knees, his hand clutching at his heart before he collapses to the floor.

x

Len realizes that he’s never actually seen Barry sleep before.

He looks so young, so innocent, no trace of the pain or worry that comes with being a full-time superhero.

Though, with Barry lying in the medical bed hooked up to about ten different machines, Len can’t help but feel like this is his fault. He should have stayed with him, saw it through, left no man behind; after all, it was his fault Barry had been struck in the first place. If he hadn’t been so damn stubborn…

Dr. Snow returns to the room carrying more medical supplies with Cisco on his tablet behind her, though she doesn’t stay to chat. She checks Barry’s monitors and adjusts the I.V. bag attached to him before leaving without a word or even a glance in Len’s direction.

“I couldn’t help but notice you’re much more warmed to me than Snow is,” Len says conversationally.

“One of us has to be,” Cisco mutters. "Besides, Barry always believed there's good in you. Maybe he got to me." He doesn't look like he wants to elaborate more on that, so Len doesn't make him.

"Any news?" Len asks instead.

“I think we’ve figured it out.” He turns the tablet screen to Len, showing him what Len assumes to be a close up of Barry’s cells. “This is in his brain,” says Cisco, gesturing to the right side of the screen, and then he gestures to the left, “and this is his heart.”

“Okay, and?” Len asks, staring at the bundles of circles.

Cisco looks incredulous before he schools his expression. “Look here.” He points at the clusters of cells. “He’s got insane amounts of dopamine and serotonin in his brain. Those chemicals are known to be present when someone’s deeply in love. More so when they're still in the honeymoon stage.”

“And you think this is why he’s so…” Len can’t find a nice word to use, but Cisco understands anyway.

“It’s sort of like he’s being drugged, if that makes sense. He thinks he’s in love with you.”

“Okay,” Len says, nodding. That much, he knew already. “So why did he pass out?”

Cisco focuses on his tablet again, swiping through a few image feeds before settling on a full body scan. “I looked into that; turns out it’s the adrenaline. He thought he was going to lose you—the one person he _loves_ and lives for—and his fight or flight instincts kicked in and made his heart go all kinds of berserk. That, in addition to the cocktail of chemicals he’s got going on in his brain overworked his heart and he had a mini heart attack.”

Len is quiet for a long time. “Are you saying he can actually die from a broken heart?”

“Technically, it isn’t a broken heart, but… yeah, basically.” Cisco glances over at Barry, his eyes sad.

Len is angry all of a sudden, the reality and gravity of the situation settling in. “So what am I supposed to do?” demands Len. “I didn’t ask him to fall in love with me!”

“He didn’t, either!” Cisco fights back, but he retreats a step when Len towers over him.

Len tries his best to calm down. He knows it isn't anyone's fault but the meta's. He _knows_ , but he wants someone to blame, here and now. It takes a few moments before Len scrubs a hand over his face and backs off. “What happens now?”

Cisco still looks a bit rattled from Len's outburst, but recovers quickly. “We have a theory, but you may not like it…” He trails off, looking anywhere but Len.

“Get to the point.”

“Caitlin and I will have to run tests and see if we can counteract the chemicals while maintaining a normal balance, but in the meantime…” Cisco clears his throat. “We need him—his heart—to be at ease. We’re hoping that the spell or whatever will wear off in a few days, or at least be less intense, but until then, you just need to, um, endure him.”

“And if I don’t want him following me around every second of my day?” The idea was less than unsavory.

Cisco’s eyes narrow. “He saved your life, Cold. The least you can do is help us save his.”

Len scowls, knowing he’s right. Of course Len wasn’t really going to just leave, but he had to at least put up a fight for show. Barry had saved his life after all, and Len owes him one. “Fine.” He wants this to be done with; he feels like this night has been going on forever.

Cisco seems pleased at Len’s cooperation. “I’ll make a sort of portable heart rate monitor so we can keep an eye on him even when he’s not at S.T.A.R. Labs.” He’s already scribbling up a prototype.

Len glances over at Barry again, sighing deeply. He at least wants to be sure of what he’s getting himself into, putting a lock on his inevitable fate. “So until you find a cure, we’re basically stuck together…”

“Yep,” says Cisco, popping the ‘p’.

Len would ask what he’s done to deserve this, but really, what hasn’t he done?


	2. Chapter 2

While Barry was recuperating at S.T.A.R. Labs, Len had gotten his affairs in order to make sure his new… _commitment_ was actually going to last.

Meaning, Lisa and Mick were no longer allowed at his apartment for the time being. They didn't ask too many questions—Lisa was only disappointed she couldn't steal out of his fridge anymore and Mick didn't care so long as Len didn't pull a fun job without him. Besides, they were used to Len dropping off the grid so they weren’t all too worried, especially if it wasn’t permanent. Or so Len hopes.

He also made it apparent that he was not going to give up his normal routine of things, despite Cisco’s incessant lecturing and annoying rules that he honestly can’t believe he’s going to follow, like making sure Barry eats a minimum of five thousand calories a day, drinks enough water, avoids highly stressful situations, amongst other crap that Cisco took the time to neatly type up on paper. Len had already forgotten which pocket he shoved it into.

Despite his recent diagnosis, Barry’s still an adult who can take care of himself.

How hard could it be?

x

Len finds out that it’s very hard, actually, because Barry is stubborn as all hell and doesn’t seem to possess the ability to sit still. Len has been trying—“try” being the key word here—to cook them a decent spaghetti dinner. However, it’s nearly impossible when his shirt sleeve is being tugged this way and that, and frankly, he can’t take it anymore.

“Barry!” barks Len, and Barry stops squirming in the kitchen chair before resuming his attempts to touch Len. Len gently lays the knife down on the cutting board, in fear of using it to threaten his companion. He tries to keep his voice level. “ _Why_ are you so touchy?”

Barry shrugs, looking flustered, his hand pulling back on the counter between them. He fumbles with the watch Cisco had made for him with the constant display of his heart rate. His mouth opens and closes a few times, unsure how to begin. “I love you and you don’t even pay attention to me,” he answers in a small voice.

“You don’t love me—”

“I do!”

“—and besides, what are you talking about? I haven’t left you all day.”

It’s true. From the second Barry had woken up in STAR Labs, Len had been by his side. He let Barry hug him with glee when Cisco explained their rooming situation, squeezing Len and giggling too loud to hear Cisco’s explanation of his condition. Len even watched from the corner of the room as Dr. Snow conducted her tests, which took practically the entirety of the afternoon. Then he had driven them to his apartment on his motorcycle, with Barry’s hands skimming under Len’s leather jacket and face nestled against his back. He let Barry tug on his arm as the younger man explored the apartment, almost appalled at the guest bedroom like it was a room straight out of hell and that sleeping alone, with Len just a few feet away, was a fate worse than death.

Even now, cooking dinner for Barry, Len hasn’t left. Len doesn’t cook for _anyone_. He could have easily left Barry to fend for himself with the pantry at his disposal, but he didn’t. Yet Barry’s still giving Len that puppy dog look like it isn’t quite enough.

“This is the first thing you’ve said to me since I woke up,” Barry continues, staring at the counter sadly. Len makes to object, but he finds that it’s true. He didn’t exactly have much to say, considering this entire thing was thrust upon him and it wasn’t exactly what he had signed up for. It’s strange already as it is because Len never thought in a million years that he would have a badge _and_ his nemesis rooming with him, not to mention the one-sided infatuation. Still, that isn’t an excuse.

“I’m sorry,” says Len, because he really hadn’t realized. Their eyes meet again, Barry looking surprised like this is the first time he’s heard an apology come from Len’s mouth. That’s probably true. He ruins the moment by asking, “What exactly do you want from me?”

Barry pouts, staring down at the table so his eyelashes fan delicately across his cheeks. “Your affection would be nice.”

“We aren’t dating, Barry, remember?”

Hurt flashes across Barry’s face, his monitor beeping in warning. Len quickly grabs Barry’s hand and watches as his heart rate slows. (“Physical affection seems to ground him,” Cisco had said.)

He glances back to see Barry smiling his dopey smile. Len rolls his eyes and releases him.

“You love me,” Barry breathes.

“I—”

Len blinks and finds himself pressed against the fridge with Barry wrapped around him. The younger man releases a happy sigh as he pulls back to look at Len’s face, confused at the scowl he finds there.

“What?” Barry has the nerve to ask.

Len spins them around and presses Barry to the fridge instead, a growl rumbling deep in his chest. “Play nice, or I’ll bring out my cold gun and we’ll see just how far you want to push me.”

His threats are empty, of course, but it’s pretty damn satisfying seeing Barry’s eyes widen. Len backs off and returns his attention to the cutting board. He hears Barry shuffle behind him, his ragged breathing turning normal again, as the vegetables are added to the pan. It’s almost silent as Len cooks, which he finds refreshing. Though, Barry keeps making these sighing noises like he wants to say something, only to abort at the last second. He takes to pacing around the kitchen instead, watching Len for his attention, but Len is entirely focused on finishing up the pasta.

“Looks good,” says Barry slowly, cautiously, like he’s gauging Len’s reaction. When Len hums in reply, Barry relaxes. “You look good enough to eat, too,” he adds shamelessly.

Len can’t help but huff out a small chuckle, but that’s it. Barry makes a dissatisfied noise.

He is suddenly right next to Len, pressing their arms together as they face the stove. “The love of my life knows how to cook,” he says, practically swooning. He turns to press kisses to Len’s face, but Len shrugs him off after the first two.

“You can make yourself useful and set up the plates—”

There are a few clinks behind him, and when Len turns, he sees plates and silverware set up neatly. Len raises an eyebrow at Barry, who grins back at him.

“Anything for my love,” he says. Len rolls his eyes and turns the heat off the pan before bringing it over to the dining table.

“You need to stop calling me that,” says Len, spooning pasta onto the plates. “Len is fine.”

“Len,” repeats Barry carefully, like Len’s name is something sacred. His lips quirk in a smile, satisfied. “Love you, Len.”

They eat with the television playing some show that Barry seems to like. He tries to watch it, but he finds his eyes drifting towards Barry despite his attempts to keep them trained at the screen. The man eats like an animal, slurping his noodles into his mouth and splattering sauce everywhere. Len wants to scold him, but he loses his train of thought as he watches the way Barry’s cheeks hollow out as he sucks in the noodle, his pink tongue darting out to swipe at the wayward sauce and…

Barry’s eyes flicker to Len’s, fixing him with a quizzical look. Len turns back to his food, but not without missing Barry’s smirk.

“Len…” he begins flirtatiously.

“You’re a slob,” says Len, and Barry laughs.

They finish eating dinner after Barry had gone for seconds and thirds, and Len has Barry washing the dishes because Len had been the one to cook and he does not condone laziness.

Of course, Barry finishes the chore in about ten seconds flat before his hands—still wet—are tugging at Len’s shirt sleeve. “I want to do something fun.”

Len stares at the hand until Barry sighs in exasperation and releases him. Content, Len makes his way to his bookshelf beside the TV. “Feel free to,” says Len, pulling out a thick book from the shelf. “I, on the other hand, am going to read this book until it’s time for my nightly run.”

Barry frowns at the book like he’s trying to smite it with his mind. “I meant I want to do something _together_. Something fun, and _not_ boring,” he explains as Len settles on the couch.

“Reading is fun,” Len says. He cocks an eyebrow. “You should try it sometime.”

In a gust of wind, the book disappears from Len’s hands to reappear in Barry’s, the pages blurring in front of him. Barry shuts the book and holds it back to Len before he’s even realized what’s happened—hell, before his eyebrow even returned to its normal position.

“The narrator did it. He has Dissociative Identity Disorder, which you don’t find out until the end.” Barry beams after he’s finished, like he deserves an award for ruining Len’s mood and possibly his entire life.

“Foiling my heists are one thing, Barry,” Len begins, frighteningly calm. He takes the book and sets it down gently on the table. “But spoiling books I’ve waited months to read? That’s personal.”

Barry pales considerably as Len’s cold eyes bore into his. “I—um… Sorry?”

The irrational part of his mind wants to grab the cold gun and freeze a limb or two, but the bigger, rational part is telling him he has to let it go. But Len can’t just do _nothing_ , so he orders, “Go sit in the corner.”

Barry’s mouth opens and closes a few times. “What?”

“You heard me.”

“Seriously? You’re putting me on time out? What am I—twelve?” Barry looks indignant. His eyes are still wary, like he thinks Len is kidding.

Len is not kidding. “Don’t make me say it again,” he growls. Barry squeaks before flashing into the farthest corner near the door. Len releases a tight breath before reaching for his book. He might as well try to enjoy it.

Len only gets through about twenty pages before Barry starts fidgeting in the corner.

“Len, can I get up now?”

“No.”

“Pretty please?”

“Nope.”

Len finishes page forty-two before Barry starts whining again.

“ _L-e-e-e-e-e-e-en_ ,” he waxes on, like Len’s name is supposed to take five seconds to say.

“B-a-a-a-a-a-arry,” Len echoes. He smirks at the huff he gets in return.

“Can I please make it up to you?”

“And how exactly do you plan on doing that?” he snorts.

Barry peers at him from over his shoulder, his eyes dark. “I can get down on my knees, while you read, and suck your—”

“Stop!” Len recovers quickly from nearly dropping his book. He shakes his head, composing himself. “Don’t even finish that sentence.”

Barry looks disappointed, but continues to offer, “Back massage?”

“No.”

“I can… um… make you cookies?”

Len can’t help but be surprised. “The Scarlet Speedster knows how to bake?”

“Lot of things you don’t know about me, Len,” he grins. He takes Len’s lack of disagreement as permission and wobbles to the kitchen. Len turns back to his book as Barry starts to rifle through the pantry and cabinets for ingredients and bowls. Cookies aren’t a bad offer.

It isn’t long before Barry throws himself onto the couch, forcing Len to tip slightly as the cushion dips. He glares at Barry for all of two seconds until he notices the flour streaked across his cheek. Before Len can stop himself, he’s swiping his thumb over the other man’s cheek, watching as the contact leaves a pink flush in its wake.

Barry’s looking at him with those eyes again, so full of awe, and Len has to turn back to his book. The words don’t make sense as he’s reading them; he thinks he’s read the same paragraph three times. His face is warm, almost as if he can feel the intensity of Barry’s gaze still on him.

A tentative hand slides down Len’s arm before Barry scoots closer to wrap his arms around Len’s, softly, not as constricting as it used to be.

And Len thinks that maybe this is fine, it’s safe. It’s innocent. So he lets Barry hold onto him, until the moment comes too soon and Barry has to retrieve the cookies from the oven.

Barry holds up a warm cookie for Len to take a bite, and Len learns that the Scarlet Speedster can, in fact, bake _._

x

Len had been looking forward to his nightly run.

It was a time he could use to collect his thoughts, reflect on events, or even just focus on the road if he doesn’t want to think.

He really hadn’t thought about bringing Barry with him, insisting that he’d be back in less than an hour, but the monitor had beeped its warning, and Len had no choice. He made sure to text Cisco that they’re going for a run lest Barry’s heartrate looks abnormal.

It isn’t as bad as Len thought it would be. Barry seems to be enjoying himself for the first time (without his hands on Len). Len is using his normal route, one he actually grew fond of because of its scenery and lack of city life. Here, he never has to worry about anyone calling the cops or shooting at him.

Barry also seems to appreciate the lack of civilians. He can actually use his powers in the open, zipping back and forth between Len and some far distance ahead of them. This way, Len can run at his pace while Barry can run at his.

“I love running,” gasps Barry happily as he falls into step with Len again. His eyes are exceptionally brighter, and he carries himself more proudly.

“Wouldn’t be the Flash if you didn’t,” Len huffs out.

A strange expression flickers across Barry’s face, but it’s gone before Len can question it.

It’s quiet as they make their way back home. Barry takes a small detour into a field about a quarter of a mile to Len’s left, but Len continues his route, watching as Barry streaks and zig-zags through the fields and bushes. He returns to Len’s side holding out a bouquet of daisies, some missing petals lost in the speed.

“Pretty flowers for my pretty flower,” says Barry, grinning.

The utter ridiculousness and cheesiness of that statement leaves Len amused. “I’m not running with that in my hand.”

Barry contemplates this for a moment. His hands blur for a few seconds before he offers the daisies again, this time intertwined together in a crown. He secures it over Len’s head, and he looks so overjoyed that Len can’t find it in him to complain.

x

Len showers after Barry does, and once he exits the bathroom, finds the other man on the phone looking incredibly stressed. Len’s eyes flash to Barry’s watch. It’s pale yellow, not a warning red, but not a normal green, either.

“I know, Joe, I’m sorry,” Barry says, his fingers scraping through his hair. “I thought Cisco told you—okay… Okay… I know…”

Len rounds the kitchen counter and busies himself with getting a glass of water as Barry continues to argue with his foster dad.

“Joe—I promise, I’m fine. I’ll explain later?” He sighs heavily, nodding to himself. “Okay. When you get back, then. Sorry again… Okay. Sorry. Bye.”

He hangs up and throws his phone onto the table before groaning into his hands.

“What happened?” asks Len lightly. He hands Barry the glass of water and makes him drink a little before answering.

“That was Joe,” Barry says after he places the glass on the coffee table. He sighs again, his lips pursing. “Cisco told him about the meta, and of course he’s a little more than peeved I didn’t call to tell him myself.”

“Why didn’t you?”

Barry shrugs helplessly, a sad twitch of his shoulders. “If he found out about you and I…” He trails off like he can’t begin to fathom the consequences.

“So he doesn’t know,” Len states.

Barry has a line of tension between his eyebrows that Len wants to soothe, but doesn’t. “No, he doesn’t,” Barry says, “but I know I have to tell him.”

“You realize he’s going to arrest me on sight?” Or worse, Len thinks, but he doesn’t think mentioning that will help the situation.

“I can talk to him. He’s a reasonable man, he’ll understand,” Barry assures him, but Len can see the hint of doubt lingering in his eyes. “He’s out of town for an assignment, but he’ll be back in two days.”

“Okay,” says Len, nodding. “It’ll be okay. You need to relax.”

Barry holds out his arms hopefully, and Len steps between them. He lets Barry hold him, his face buried in Len’s neck, until the tension begins to melt from his shoulders. Len gives him a gentle squeeze before stepping away. Barry hums in disappointment, but it’s expected by now. Len glances at the watch just to make sure—yes, it’s green again—before he retrieves the glass of water to place in the sink.

“Sleep?” suggests Len, and Barry nods slowly. They make their way to the bedrooms, before Barry realizes this is where they part ways.

“Len,” Barry starts, but Len’s already shaking his head.

“Stay in your room, Barry,” he says. “I’m only across the hall. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Barry looks like a kicked puppy as he drags his feet to the guest bedroom. He turns to give Len a last fleeting look of misery ( _so_ dramatic) before Len bids him good night and shuts his own door.

Len releases a heavy sigh before sliding into bed.

One day down.

x

When Len wakes up, he knows something is wrong.

The hair on the back of his neck rises as his body registers the foreign weight beside him. His hand snatches the cold gun from underneath his pillow and has it aimed before his eyes are even open. The trigger is barely squeezed halfway, a thin, icy mist escaping, before the intruder yelps and flies from the bed with inhuman speed. Len stills, his eyes finally focusing.

“ _Barry?_ ” he roars furiously, but all anger is lost when he hears Barry groaning from the floor. He clabbers to the edge of the bed, chastising, “I told you to stay in your room!”

Barry’s teeth are chattering, his arms wrapped tightly around himself. His skin is so pale. “I w-was l-lonely,” he whimpers before letting his head fall back against the carpet.

Len quickly gathers the blanket and pushes the pillows to the floor. “You’re lucky I didn’t actually pull the trigger,” he grumbles, pushing the pillows under Barry’s head to prop him up.

Barry only watches him, still shivering violently, as Len wraps him in the blanket. “S-sorry,” he murmurs. Len leaves briefly to gather more blankets from the hall closet before he swaddles Barry with them. He’s practically a giant burrito when Len is done.

“You’ll be warm soon,” says Len. He fixes the thermostat so it’s a little warmer than usual, even though he despises the heat.

“If this is what it takes for some attention, I’ll be glad to have hypothermia any day,” says Barry with a stupid grin.

“You don’t have hypothermia,” says Len matter-of-factly. Then, because he feels it’s pertinent, he adds, “And you’re an idiot.”

“You don’t mean that,” says Barry knowingly, burrowing into his blanket cocoon.

Len really doesn’t. He knows Barry is highly intelligent, which is the only reason he’s lasted so long in their rivalry. And maybe because Len enjoys a challenge, if not that particular challenger.

“I’m going to make breakfast,” says Len instead of adding fuel to Barry’s gigantic ego.

“I’ll come with you.” Barry _hmmph_ s as he struggles to sit up, but the blankets act as a full body restraint.

Len barely holds in his chuckle. “Barry, you should—”

“ _Hmmph!_ ”

“Barry,” he tries again, his lips twitching, “you should stay here and get warm. I’ll be right outside.”

Barry slumps back to the pillow, defeated by the layers of cotton. He looks sullen, but nods anyway. The color already seems to be returning to his cheeks. Len really can’t help himself. He pulls out his phone and snaps a picture of Barry before he can do anything other than stare at him in confusion.

“Hey!” Barry has to call after him, because Len had already fled the room. “If you show that to anyone, I’m going to tell them you were the little spoon last night!”

Len skids to a stop in his escape to the kitchen. He whips his head back, incredulous at the amount of nerve Barry seems to possess. “ _You spooned me against my will?_ ”

“You initiated it!”

“I cannot believe my ears, Barry Allen,” Len drawls disappointedly. He decides to ignore the fact that last night was possibly the best night’s sleep he’s had in a while. It doesn’t change his aversion to surprises.

“That’s what I thought,” he thinks he hears Barry mutter.

Len figures the picture is enough blackmail for a century, so he lets that slide and gets to work on breakfast. The fridge is less stocked than he would like. It still has a decent amount of food, but at the rate Barry’s eating, they’ll be out in a few days. He makes a mental note to head to the farmer’s market soon.

Eggs and bacon are a must during breakfast. Len makes sure to crack enough eggs and fry enough bacon to feed a small army. His phone rings as he’s transferring the food onto plates. He wipes his hands on a towel before answering, glancing at the caller id briefly.

“Lisa.”

“Well, good morning to you, too, my dear brother,” Lisa says in an almost identical drawl. Of all things, she had to pick that up, too. “I was calling to see how you were holding up.”

Len pops a few slices of bread into the toaster. “I’m fine, Lise. I said I’d call you when I’m finished.”

“Well, I’m just curious as to what exactly you are doing…”

“Curiosity’s a dangerous thing.”

“You know how I like danger.”

Len snorts. He’s just about to tell Lisa to mind her business, when Barry wails from the bedroom.

“Len! Len, I’m stuck!”

Len covers the receiver too late.

There’s a pause on the other line. “Len,” Lisa practically sings. He can practically hear the smirk in her voice. “Do you have someone over? A _man_?”

Damn it. “None of your business, sis.”

“So this is why I’m not allowed over, hm? It’s serious, isn’t it?” She squeals happily, like she really thinks it’s possible for Len to have a normal, functioning relationship. “When do I get to meet him?”

Len plans to sweep this all under the rug once Barry’s cured. They could go back to their regular lives, forget this ever happened, and continue to be foes. He can’t do that if Lisa has anything to do with it. “You don’t,” says Len simply.

Lisa gasps like the words had physically hurt her. “Oh, don’t tell me you’re playing with his heart?”

Len snorts, rolling his eyes. “Trust me, I’m not.”

“L-E-E-E-EN, HELP!” Barry’s insistent, not to mention overly dramatic, and Len knows that there’s no way Lisa didn’t hear that.

“Christ, Lenny! What are you _doing_ to him?” she demands, sounding horrified.

“Nothing! I didn’t _do_ anyth—”

“ _LEN!_ ”

“I have to go,” he grunts into the receiver. Then, once he’s hung up, yells, “Damn it, Barry!”

He stomps over to the bedroom, finding Barry in the same position, but he looks too flushed now. Len sighs. He can never win. The layers peel off one by one, and Barry becomes progressively more relaxed. Once he’s free from his restrains, Barry stretches languidly, his shirt riding up briefly.

“Breakfast is ready,” says Len. If his eyes swept over the exposed skin of Barry’s stomach, he’s sure it’s because he was checking for other damage.

x

Len doesn’t mean to ignore Barry. He just has a lot of things to do.

After they’d eaten, Barry had washed the dishes and Len had brought his tools to the coffee table to work on his cold gun. He wanted to create a sort a safety for the gun, not to protect Barry—of course not—but to make sure Len is safe if his gun ever ends up in the wrong hands. That’s why. Not because of Barry.

He’s been working on it all day, only taking short breaks to have a snack or use the bathroom. Barry was less than thrilled to find out a weapon has taken Len’s full attention rather than himself, but he’d stopped complaining once Len let him watch TV beside him so long as he didn’t get in the way of his work. It takes a lot of trial and error; Len shocks himself more times than he’d care to admit, but Barry grabs his hands every time, soothing them with light pressure, and Len continues on without pain. When Len starts a project, he sees it through until it’s finished, no matter how long it takes. He glances over at Barry every so often to find his eyes glazed as he stares at the TV, boredom evident, and Len feels a bit guilty to keep him inside all day. He tells Barry that he’s welcome to go out, but Barry refuses, a little life restoring in him from Len’s attention.

The sun sets quickly before Len knows it, and his workstation is only lit up by the glow of the TV.

“Len,” says Barry quietly. His head’s currently using Len’s lap as a pillow. He must have been slowly inching there over the hours, because Len hadn’t even noticed, too invested in his project.

“Barry,” replies Len, his voice rough from misuse.

“Are you finished yet? I want to go running again.”

Perfect timing. Len finishes tightening the last screw before he flips the newly added switch. “I am now,” he says, and Barry immediately perks up, his face brightening.

“Great! Let’s go!” He’s on his feet, practically vibrating with excitement.

“Just one more thing,” Len says, getting up as well. He presses the gun into Barry’s hands, seeing confusion flicker across his face.

“What?”

“Shoot me.”

Barry sputters, his eyes wide. “I’m not—I’m not gonna _shoot_ you, Len!” He tries to pass the gun back over, but Len steps away.

“I made a few adjustments. It shouldn’t fire. I’ll be fine,” Len assures him.

Barry looks utterly torn. “Why can’t you try it on me?”

“Because,” Len starts. _I don’t want to hurt you if it fails_. “I have to test it with someone else’s hands.”

“Len, I-I can’t…”

“You can, and you will.” Len steadies Barry’s hand and steps forward until the gun presses against his chest. “Come on, Barry.”

Barry gulps, his eyes desperate. He studies Len helplessly, but Len just nods encouragingly. He takes a deep breath, squeezes his eyes shut, and pulls the trigger.

 _Click_.

Barry releases a sharp breath. “Oh, god, that was terrifying.” He drops the gun on the table and grabs Len to squeeze the air out of his lungs. “Please tell me we can go running now.”

“We can go running now,” grunts Len airily. Barry releases him with a hesitant smile, his eyes still looking a little haunted. Len was positive the gun would work. He didn’t, however, know if Barry would have the guts to pull the trigger on someone he loves. It turns out he does, and Len doesn’t know what to think about that.

Their run goes according to plan, both of them allowing the pent up energy to release with every step, and it isn’t long before they return to Len’s place very sweaty and very tired. Once they finish showering and complete their nightly routines, they are at the crossroads of the hallway yet again.

Barry still looks at him with hope, but Len knows better.

“Stay out of my bed, Barry,” he emphasizes slowly, so Barry understands. Barry nods like he does.

x

The next morning, Len is pleased to find his bed free of spindly limbs. He stretches languidly, throws his feet over the side of the bed—and promptly trips over said limbs before crashing to the floor. His hand grabs the night stand on the way down, knocking the entire thing down with him.

“ _Barry!_ ”

“You said not the bed!”


	3. Chapter 3

Len glares at the coffee maker as he mixes cream and sugar into his mug. Every exhale through his nose comes out in a low growl. He thought his morning would be great, excellent even, but as fate would have it, he is no longer allowed to enjoy life’s simple pleasures.

“Oh, come on, Len,” says Barry from the bathroom, his words warped from the toothbrush still hanging from his mouth. “I cleaned the mess up. Are you really still mad?”

“Mad is too kind a word,” replies Len. He sips at his coffee as angrily as he can, but only ends up burning his mouth.

Excellent.

When he spares Barry another glance, the boy is wiping at his mouth with his shirt sleeve and his hair is not even a fraction of tamed. “Can you pour me a cup?”

“You’ve got two hands,” Len reminds him bitterly, carrying his own mug and brushing past Barry.

Barry sighs and retrieves a mug from the high cabinet and pours himself a cup of coffee. “You’re awfully grumpy,” he notes quietly.

“Exceptionally observant as always,” Len says. He takes another sip from his mug. “I think I have a right to be, considering my recent misfortune.”

“Right,” Barry says blankly. His back is still facing Len, but Len can see the tension in his shoulders.

Len sighs, placing his mug onto the coffee table. He checks his phone briefly, seeing the text from Cisco to meet at S.T.A.R. Labs, before shoving his phone back in his pocket. The air is thick, uncomfortable, and Len doesn’t really like it. “Do you feel any different?”

Barry mixes sugar into his coffee—a little _too_ much—before he answers. “If you mean how I feel about you: no, even though you’re an ass sometimes.” He sips at his coffee, refusing to turn around to face Len. “I love you, and I will continue to love you, no matter what.”

Len expected that answer, but had still hoped for the best. He doesn’t understand what Barry sees in him, even in his love-induced haze. It isn’t like Len has a lot to offer him, not unless he likes (stolen) diamonds and other expensive things, but something tells Len that Barry isn’t exactly the materialistic type. But he doesn’t want to bring this up right now; he’s still angry, after all, even if Barry’s bedhead is steadfast in softening his glare.

“You know the bowl on my nightstand you made me destroy?” Len begins. Barry turns his face a centimeter to show he’s listening. “My sister made that for me in pottery class when she was six. It was probably the only thing that survived all these years.”

Barry turns immediately, his face guilt-ridden. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” says Len, because it has to be. There’s nothing he can do about it now. He remembers her toothy grin as she offered it to him, declaring, “I made this for you, so you better like it, Lenny!”

And Len did. Being a teenager with a kid sister wasn’t easy; there was a short period of time where he shrugged her off when all she wanted to do was play, but when their father first laid a hand on them, he knew he had a duty as her older brother to protect her from anything and everything.

“Len…” Barry looks pained at whatever he’s seeing on Len’s face. He flashes to Len’s side and wraps his arms around him. “I’m really sorry,” he murmurs again, sounding incredibly emotional, even for Barry. “I’ll make it up to you.”

Len inhales deeply before releasing it slowly. He pats at Barry’s arm so he’ll let go. “It’s fine, Barry. I was just lost in thought for a moment. It’s nothing to do with you.”

Barry pulls back slightly and gazes up at him anxiously. “Please don’t be mad anymore.”

Oh, right; he’d been mad. He isn’t so much anymore, not with Barry looking at him like _that_. Still, Len has to make this clear. “You have to listen to me when I ask you to do certain things.” It’s for Barry’s own good, really. Everything he does is for him.

Barry looks scandalized. “But what you ask me to do is awful.”

“Sleeping in your own bed is awful?” Len asks, raising an eyebrow.

“The worst,” groans Barry, rolling his head back in exasperation.

Len can’t decide if he wants to chuckle or roll his eyes. “Barry, you have to _try_ , okay? Promise me.”

“But I love you and I want to be close to you,” he says desperately, his eyes widening with sincerity. His hands find their way to clutch at the front of Len’s shirt, kneading it nervously.

“ _Promise_ me,” Len repeats, and he stares Barry down despite the way his insides feel like they’re mush.

“Okay… I promise,” says Barry, and then he sighs woefully like he’s just made a deal with Satan himself. Len is pretty damn close to being the devil, anyway.

“Great,” grunts Len, making to move away, but Barry’s hands tighten on him, keeping him still. Barry’s eyes flicker down to his lips, leaning forward to—

Len clamps Barry’s puckered lips with his thumb and forefinger. “Nope,” says Len, shaking his head once. Barry makes a noise in the back of his throat, indignant. “Cisco needs us at S.T.A.R. Labs today. We’re going right now.”

He releases Barry’s lips but they stay in a pout.

“Fine,” Barry mutters.

Barry flashes them to the lab, and though Len had felt the ghost of lips skim over his cheek, he doesn’t mention it.

x

“Barry, you’ve gotta focus!” Cisco shouts over the whir of the treadmill. He holds his tablet against his chest as he runs a hand through his hair, looking incredibly frustrated.

Len watches from his seat behind the glass, his arms crossed patiently. It’s oddly refreshing to know someone else isn’t immune to Barry’s lack of attention. It’s almost satisfying.

They’ve been trying to test Barry’s speed for the past fifteen minutes, but the speedster is all too distracted. He would hit five hundred miles per hour only to sink to three hundred, and then back up again. It wasn’t consistent, and that’s the problem. Len thinks it’s still amazing, regardless, because he had never actually seen, in terms of miles per hour, how fast Barry could run.

“Shoes off the desk,” Dr. Snow orders him, swatting his boots off. Len readjusts in his seat, eyeing her with interest. She looks like she’s trying very hard to ignore him, despite having to lean over in his space to reach the computer keyboard. He knows she’d rather have him sit outside in the cold, but they both know that’s impossible with Barry’s current attachment issues.

“Dr. Snow,” he says, and he lays off the super villain drawl because he isn’t Captain Cold right now—he’s just Len. Still, Dr. Snow stiffens at the sound of his voice.

She resumes typing away on the computer, pulling up a close up image of what Len assumes is Barry’s cells. “What?” she finally responds.

Len waits for her to finish typing and look at him. She finally does, after pressing the enter key a little more forcefully than needed.

“I just wanted to apologize,” Len starts, and Dr. Snow snorts.

“A little late for that, don’t you think?” she asks, her eyes hardening.

“Yes,” Len admits. “But I thought you should at least hear me say it, so… I’m sorry.”

“For?” Dr. Snow prompts, her eyes narrowed in scrutiny.

Len oddly feels like he’s being chastised by an old teacher. “I’m sorry for using you to bait the Flash,” he says, and some of his alter-ego voice slips in at the end, but really, apologizing is already an incredibly difficult task to begin with.

Dr. Snow taps her heel on the ground for a few moments as she studies him. Len instinctively wants to clamp down on his emotions, control his facial expression, but he stops himself to let his sincerity show through. He’d already known he was good enough to finish a job without harming anyone, even before Barry had made the deal with him. The situation with Dr. Snow was different though; Len was gauging his opponent, seeing his thought process, his weaknesses…

But things are different now.

Finally, Dr. Snow releases a sigh of concession. “You aren’t suddenly going to stop be a criminal, are you?”

Len gives this some thought. “Not likely.”

“Didn’t think so,” she says, but the glare in her eyes is nearly gone, so Len takes that as a win.

A sudden crash in the treadmill room has both of them snap back to attention.

“Oh, Barry…” Dr. Snow murmurs worriedly, rushing into the room. Len is right behind her, his eyes immediately zeroing in on the pile of crushed cardboard boxes that probably had the intention of breaking Barry’s fall, though Len highly doubts it helped at all.

He helps Cisco and Dr. Snow dig through the boxes before the finds Barry blinking up at them, his eyes squinted and his limbs sprawled.

Cisco immediately asks, “Barry, are you okay?”

“Did you break anything?” Dr. Snow adds.

“Ow,” says Barry intelligently.

Len holds out a hand to help him to his feet, which Barry takes gratefully. He kicks his foot out to dislodge the box his leg had made it through. Len grabs his shoulder to steady him, but immediately releases him when Barry hisses in pain.

“Here?” asks Len, and Barry nods, rotating his shoulder gently. He guides Barry to the chair by the small of his back instead. Dr. Snow hikes up the sleeve of Barry’s shirt, revealing the galaxy of purple and black bruises blossoming around his shoulder and upper arm.

Len winces in sympathy.

“Yeah, tripping at six hundred miles per hour will do that to you,” Cisco explains. He paces around the room with his mouth set in a frown as Dr. Snow examines the bruises.

“He heals fast,” Dr. Snow assures Len as she feels around for anything broken. “He’ll be fine.”

“I’m okay,” Barry seconds, nodding at Len.

“You better be,” Len mutters, and Barry’s lips twitch in a small smile.

“Love you, too,” says Barry, but he sucks in another sharp breath when Dr. Snow presses against his rib cage.

“Bruising,” she confirms, lifting his shirt briefly.

“Barry,” Cisco begins. He looks very stressed. “What’s the matter? You can get to your regular speed, but you’re having trouble staying there. It’s not a physical issue, it’s a mental one. So what is it?”

Barry’s suddenly interested in the shape of the floor tiles.

“Barry,” Dr. Snow prompts. “If something’s wrong, we have to know. We’re your doctors, remember?”

Barry looks distressed and frankly, a little embarrassed. He fingers the little hole in the knee of his sweatpants. “I have to see him,” he mutters to the floor, “to make sure he’s okay. That he isn’t hurt.”

Three pairs of eyes flicker to Len.

“I'm right here, Barry,” Len assures him.

“I know that, but when I’m running so fast—I can literally be hundreds of miles away, and you…” Barry breaks off and shakes his head. He looks desperately at his team. “I know this is stupid; I’m sorry, I’ll try harder.”

“You just want to know he’s okay, right, Barry?” Dr. Snow asks, and Len is surprised at how soft her voice is, as opposed to the cold voice she had used towards him. Barry nods silently, his eyes unable to focus on anything for more than a few seconds before flitting away.

“All right, I think I know what we can do,” Cisco muses. He turns his attention to Len. “How do you feel about matching watches?”

Len can’t believe his ears, or the nerve of him. Does team Flash just have an abundance of nerves? It is hardly a coincidence. “You mean something that can track my health status and location in my every waking moment?” he asks flatly.

“And sleeping moments,” Cisco adds.

“I’m not too keen on it, surprisingly enough.”

“Oh, come on.” Cisco waves him off, and Len isn’t particularly fond of the fact that Cisco seems to find him less intimidating than before the accident. “It’s not like we didn’t already know your location from Barry’s watch, you know, since he’s _always_ with you.”

“What does my wearing a watch have to do with anything?” Len grumbles. He can already see the way Barry’s sitting straighter, his face full of hope and his stupid grin that only means trouble for Len.

“Cisco can program it to project to Barry’s watch,” Dr. Snow answers for him with a slightly aggravated expression, “so Barry can see that your vitals are fine, and therefore, see that _you_ are fine.”

“Yes!” says Barry, clasping his hands together.

“It might even allow your safe-radius to expand,” Cisco adds. “You know, the distance that Barry can safely be away from you.”

“Fine,” growls Len, because he has to at least give it a shot if he wants a little bit of space, “but _only_ my vitals, not my location, not a heart rate display, and you have Barry’s information projected onto mine as well. Plus an off switch.”

Barry leaps up and presses a hard kiss to Len’s lips before squeezing him.

“It’ll be a day or two before it’s ready,” Cisco says, “but in the meantime: front and center, Cold. You’re going to stand where Barry can see you while he runs.”

Len lets Barry drag him to the treadmill. “If you’re going to be bossing me around, you may as well call me Len.”

Cisco grins at him, and Dr. Snow rolls her eyes without malice.

x

“ _Please_ no more reading,” begs Barry.

They’d decided to order in since Len was too tired to cook and Barry has the culinary skill of a child. Barry had eaten about ten take-out containers of Chinese food, but it was hard earned from how much he had been running earlier.

“Can we go out? Together?” Barry continues to plead. He shifts on his feet, restless.

Len sighs, but doesn’t move from his position on the couch. “Is there anyone else you can ask? Iris, perhaps?” He knows Iris, of course; very smart, very daring, but very blind, unable to see that Barry’s care for her runs a little too deep.

Barry’s face blanks for a moment. “I haven’t talked to her since…” He trails off lamely.

“Now would be a good time,” says Len, still watching him carefully.

Barry shakes his head, blinking away whatever expression he’s hiding from Len. “I’ll talk to her when I talk to Joe,” he insists. “Tonight, I want to spend time with you.”

“We do nothing but spend time together,” Len reminds him. “And it’s Friday night; it’s going to be crowded everywhere.”

Barry shifts his weight on his feet, twiddling his thumbs nervously. “That’s sort of the point.”

“Think you’re forgetting the fact that I’m a criminal, Barry.” He’s not entirely sure he sees the benefits of putting himself out there for any member of the CCPD to tackle and take him down for doing nothing other than looking at them the wrong way. They’d find some crime to pin on him.

Barry catches him off guard. “You have no records, remember?”

Len remembers. He just wasn’t sure if Barry did, not until now. For some reason, he had expected Barry to forget every terrible thing about their history, their past. That could at least make it easier to believe that Barry could ever fall in love with him.

“You remember doing that?” Len asks warily.

“’Course,” says Barry, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. He looks like he doesn’t know where Len is going with this, and frankly, neither does Len.

But Len has to ask, “Do you remember what happened at the air field? How I… betrayed you?”

“Yes.”

“So knowing that,” Len continues, his eyes locked onto Barry’s, “how can you look me in the eyes and tell me that you love me?”

Len expects Barry to snap out of the spell suddenly, like these are the magic words that make Barry finally realize that Len really is an awful person and drag him to Iron Heights by his ear with his ass skidding the ground.

Only, Barry’s gaze doesn’t falter. He looks defiant suddenly, like he had that night in front of the museum. “I’m sure you had your reasons, Len,” he says, stepping closer to him until he has one knee on the couch. “I know you’re a good man.”

Len snorts. “When did you come to that conclusion? After I iced you to the floor a few months ago?”

“You were trying to protect your sister,” Barry tells him. His other knee joins the couch, and he’s practically straddling Len so he’s trapped. “I _know_ you’re a good man,” he repeats, his voice soft.

“I’m terrible,” Len insists.

“You’re amazing,” Barry corrects.

“Awful.”

“Perfect.”                                           

Len wants to look away from the intensity in Barry’s gaze, but knows he can’t. “Neither of us are going to win this argument, you do realize?”

“I win,” declares Barry. He gently takes Len’s face in his hands, his hands warm against his cheek. He hesitates before he presses their lips together, pleased when Len doesn’t pull away. Len kisses back lightly, tentatively, and something in his chest flutters but something in his brain buzzes with warning.

“Where do you want to go tonight?” Len murmurs in defeat when their lips part.

Barry gasps with excitement, his eyes bright and his teeth blinding him. He’d better decide quick before Len changes his mind.

“There’s a carnival in town,” Barry says, his hands cupping his cheeks hopefully.

“Oh, god…”

“Please?” Barry begs. He bounces in excitement, his hands grabbing at Len’s shoulders. “Please, Len, please, oh, _pretty please_?”

“Okay,” says Len, mostly because he doesn’t need Barry bouncing in his lap like that, especially not when he’s _begging_ with those pretty lips of his—

Len pushes Barry off lightly to get to his feet, but the other boy just jumps and latches onto him from behind.

“Thank you, thank you!” he squeals. “Oh, I love you so _much_ right now!”

Len drags them both to the bedrooms to get dressed, hoping he won’t regret this.

x

Len drives them in getaway car number four. It’s sleek, black, and most importantly, inconspicuous. Barry offered to flash them there, but that was far from subtle. Plus, this gave Len some semblance of control tonight, so he didn’t feel all too uncomfortable with where he was headed.

The carnival is on the outskirts of town in an open field, which Len is grateful for because this means that there will be people from neighboring cities to help camouflage him from those from his own city. He’s dressed in all black aside from the navy blue sweater he threw on that Barry insisted had made him look, well, “absolutely scrumptious”.

Len opted for the back way as opposed to the main roads. This way he could decrease his chances of running into someone who would probably assume he’s taken Barry hostage and end the night with Len in handcuffs.

His phone buzzes in his pocket as he passes one of his safe houses. He pulls it out to glance at the screen, when Barry suddenly screeches, “ _Len!”_

The phone flies from his hand and clatters to the floor of the car as Len is momentarily startled. “Jesus, Barry, look what you made me do!”

“Keep your eyes on the road!” Barry demands hysterically, and Len shoots him a look of annoyance.

“There’s literally no one else on the road!”

“So?”

“ _So_ ,” Len answers, his eyes narrowing, “that text could have been important. What if my sister is in trouble? What if S.T.A.R. Labs is being attacked?”

Barry pales at that. Len shifts for one hand on the steering wheel while the other tries to reach for the phone, to no avail.

“I got it,” mutters Barry, and before Len can protest, Barry’s unbuckling his seat belt to lean over. “Just keep your eyes on the road.”

“Barry—”

Len’s grip tightens on the wheel as one of Barry’s hands grabs his thigh for balance, his head poking under. They’re approaching a main road, the one that takes them the rest of the way to the carnival, so Barry needs to hurry lest they both be arrested for public indecency.

“I see it,” says Barry, his voice slightly muffled. “It’s stuck under your seat. Hold on.”

Len’s leg kicks out as Barry’s hand slides higher to leverage himself to reach further.

“Hurry up,” Len orders faintly. It’s suddenly hot in the car, and Len has to roll the windows down a few inches to breathe. They finally hit a red light to turn onto the main road, and Len’s eyes flicker to the motorcycle roaring behind him in the rear view mirror.

Len spares a glance below him, at Barry’s unruly head of hair, before deciding it’s best _not_ to add fuel to his cruel imagination. He glances beside him instead to see the motorcyclist line up with the side of his car.

That motorcycle looks awfully familiar…

“I got it!” Barry exclaims, and the motorcyclist glances at Len briefly before turning away—only to snap right back to Len. Len’s eyes widen, seeing the brown curls underneath the helmet.

Oh, sh—

“ _Lenny?_ ” The visor of the helmet is shoved up and Len finds himself staring right into his sister’s eyes.

Len feels Barry moving to get up, but he can’t let Lisa see his face—she’s too smart to not put it together if she sees his eyes or even his lips. That cowl really does nothing for Barry.

He pushes Barry’s head back down before he can rise fully, causing him to release a light grunt against his thigh.

Lisa’s jaw drops, the movement not going unnoticed. “Dear, God, Lenny, is that—? Are you—? Is he giving you a—?”

“Do you really want to know the answers to those questions?” he drawls in annoyance. He can feel Barry’s hot breath against his thigh, and his fingers tightening on Len’s leg in alarm at hearing Lisa’s voice. Len uses the hand on Barry’s head to stroke through his hair soothingly.

Lisa’s face wrinkles in disgust and horror before she looks upwards at the heavens. “Oh, _please_ let me un-see this…”

“I’d suggest you go on to do whatever you were doing before,” says Len, raising a challenging eyebrow.

“Definitely,” agrees Lisa, her face set in a grimace. “Though, I expect a formal introduction in a less scarring situation… Bye, Lenny. Bye, loverboy!”

The motorcycle zips off before the light even turns green, which Len will scold her about some other day.

“Is she gone?” Barry asks quietly, and only then does Len realize he still has his hand over Barry’s head.

“Yes,” replies Len. He lets Barry return to his seat and buckle himself back in. “You okay?”

Barry clears his throat, and Len doesn’t fail to see how red the man’s cheeks are. “Yep. Oh, and your phone…” He hands it over to him, and Len checks briefly to see that it’s Rogue business, nothing too important. He should have listened to Barry; he probably could have avoided this whole mess.

Len takes a few detours to make sure they aren’t being followed by anyone before returning to the original route. Just his luck his sister had to be at that exact stoplight at that exact moment. He’s starting to wonder if this is finally payback for all the crimes he had committed, one awful and awkward moment at a time.

Barry’s been fidgeting in his seat ever since Lisa had left, and Len just has to ask. “What, Barry?”

Barry releases a deep breath. His hands twitch where he has them resting in his lap. “You have no idea what you make me want to do to you,” he whispers huskily.

Len swallows thickly, and he rolls the windows down further.

x

Len doesn’t remember the last time he’s been to a carnival.

He probably went once or twice with Lisa after sneaking them both in, but he doesn’t remember much aside from a Ferris wheel and a lesson from their father for going out without his permission.

Len had let Barry intertwine their hands together after they had bought themselves a paper bracelet that entitled them to a free pass for every ride inside the carnival. The booth games, however, will have to be paid for once they actually play.

There’s a lot of people around them; not so much that they can’t breathe but enough that they blend in effortlessly. Barry’s face is full of wonder as he takes in the twinkling lights around them, the many couples embracing, the families playing the games.

“What do you want to do first?” Len asks him, because he doesn’t exactly know what the protocol is for carnivals.

Screams of excitement and laughter capture Barry’s attention, and his head whips towards a ride that looks like a bunch of rapidly spinning cups.

Len grimaces. “Oh, no—”

“That one!” Barry grins and drags him to the line as Len protests uselessly. The worker lets them in along with the next queue of the line, and Barry picks a cup with red lining while Len had originally stepped towards the blue one. He rolls his eyes before joining Barry, who pats the seat next to him innocently.

“If I die on this ride…” Len trails off threateningly. Barry pats Len’s arm happily as the worker makes his rounds to secure the safety bar.

“Arms and legs inside the vehicle at all times,” the worker announces to the riders once he’s finished his safety check. The ride buzzes alive and begins to move.

Cold air hits his face as they pick up speed. This isn’t so bad. The platform holding the cups is turning at full speed now. It looked faster when they were off the ride, but Len isn’t complaining. He’s got a minor motion sickness problem that, thankfully, is not giving him any trouble on this ride. Or so he thought.

“You might want to hold on,” Barry says suddenly, and Len’s eyebrows furrow.

“For wha—ah!” The air is knocked out of Len as something below the cup disconnects, and he’s propelled into the side of the cup with Barry following suit.

Barry cackles happily as they are catapulted from one end of the cup to the other, the wind whipping at them from about twenty different directions.

“Oh, shit, oh, shit,” Len chants as his vision spins before him—left is right and right is left and his hand reaches out to grab the safety bar, but it’s metal and his grip slips easily. So he grabs the next best thing, which just happens to be Barry.

“Len!” he hears Barry shout, and then he feels Barry laugh as he buries his face in Barry’s hair. It’s better this way, because at least he can’t _see_ everything spinning, can only feel his insides being blended together.

He knew it; he _knew_ Barry was trying to kill him! And what a grand plan that was—getting Len to believe in this ruse just to murder him on a kiddie ride and rule it as an accident with his specialty in forensics. The screws were loose, Barry would probably say, after kicking the safety bar open to have Len flying off to his death—oh, what a way to go. But Len tightens his arms around Barry’s shoulders because he’s not dying. Nope. Not today.

“Len,” he hears his would-be killer say. “You can open your eyes now. The ride is over.”

He thinks Barry is messing with him because his brain still feels like it’s bouncing around in his skull, but when he opens his eyes, he can see the other riders rising from their seats.

The ride worker clears his throat beside them, eyeing them expectantly.

Len releases Barry from his stiff arms before climbing from the cup, his legs a little wobbly. “My eyes weren’t closed,” he says defensively as they pass the exit. Barry raises an eyebrow at him. “I was just blinking for an extended period of time,” he explains.

Barry laughs and takes his hand again. “Whatever you say, Len.”

“How many of these deathtraps do you actually plan to take me on?” Len asks him.

The grin Barry gives him is absolutely diabolical.

x

In short, Len learns that his motion sickness does not go away no matter how many times Barry kisses his temple, though it does help alleviate some of the resentment he feels towards amusement rides. He didn’t like the rides that spun him, nor the ones that constricted his ability to move, like the one that spun so fast he wasn’t able to lift his arm or leg from the padded wall.

“That’s all of them,” Barry had argued, but that’s not true. After all, Len had liked the ride that brought them high up into the air and swung them around calmly like a giant swing-set. He also didn’t mind the pirate ship that rocked back and forth and eventually around in a full circle. They’d skipped the merry-go-round because they both decided they were both a little too old for it, and instead stopped at a small concession stand offering cotton candy.

It isn’t Len’s favorite—he eats it more for the texture than the taste—but he takes small pieces anyway and watches as Barry picks off pieces too big for his mouth.

“You’ve got quite the sweet tooth,” Len notes. He wonders for a moment if he’d like the taste of cotton candy more if he licked it from Barry’s lips.

“Well, I can’t get cavities,” says Barry, stuffing another puff into his mouth.

Len doesn’t believe him. “You can’t?” he asks in disbelief.

“Nope. It’s because of my powers,” Barry explains. “I can’t get diseases, I heal faster, I have no refractory period, I have to eat a lot—”

“ _What?_ ”

“I have to eat a lot? You knew that already—”

“No, before that.” Len watches as pink floods Barry’s cheeks.

Barry focuses on kneading a clump of the cotton into a ball of sugar. “Um, yeah. It’s almost nonexistent.”

Len can hardly believe this man is real. So many thoughts flit through his head. The scenarios, the opportunities, God, imagine the—

No, he _shouldn’t_ imagine, actually.

Len clears his throat. “Okay,” he says to end that topic once and for all.

They walk past a booth that has Barry doubling back.

“Oh my god,” Barry says in awe. At the top of the prize wall is a giant, brown bear and Barry’s wide eyes are set on it.

“You think you’ve got what it takes, Barry?” Len’s eyes scan over the game quickly. “Knocking over milk bottles take skill, you know.”

Barry finishes the last of the cotton candy, tossing the paper cone into the trash before he practically skips over to the booth. Len follows, amused, as Barry hands the worker a bill.

“You get three shots to knock over those three milk bottles,” the worker says flatly. He looks bored and grumpy, his bad mood evident as he drops the tiny bean bags in front of Barry. He returns to the side of the booth to watch, sucking the straw of his drink loudly.

“It’s all in the elbow, Barry,” says Len teasingly.

Barry inhales deeply before releasing it slowly. He grabs a bean bag, winding up his arm lightly before throwing it at the milk bottles. He misses by a few inches, but he still has two shots left.

“You’re making me nervous,” Barry huffs at him.

“Who, me?” Len asks innocently.

The second throw actually hits the milk bottles right in the middle of the stack, but it doesn’t budge.

“Hey!” Barry’s eyebrows furrow. “I hit it square on. Why didn’t it fall over?”

“You probably didn’t throw it hard enough,” the worker says, but Len doesn’t like the smirk on his face.

“Just try again, Barry,” Len murmurs. Barry winds his arm again, throwing so forcefully that Len can hear it smack against the milk bottles, but the bean bag only falls lamely to the ground.

“Sorry,” the worker says, though he doesn’t sound it. “Maybe next time.”

Barry looks utterly crestfallen. Len feels his inside burn hot. How dare he treat Barry like that? How dare he refuse to give Barry everything he deserves?

Len shoves a hand in his pocket and flicks a dollar at the worker.

“I only need one shot,” Len says, and the worker hands him a single bean bag, looking very annoyed. Barry watches him silently, his eyebrows downturned, unsure how Len is going to win an obviously rigged game.

But Len has his ways. The worker crosses his arms, eyeing Len warily.

Len makes a show of winding up before pitching the bean bag at the worker’s drink, causing it to topple over and spill its contents onto the floor.

The worker yelps in surprise, his hands flailing as his foot slips on one of the many ice cubes, and his elbow smacks the milk bottles off the platform as he attempts to catch himself.

“Len,” gasps Barry in disbelief, his lips twitching like he doesn’t know whether he wants to frown or laugh.

“Hey!” the worker fumes angrily, struggling to pull himself upright.

“I believe I win a prize for knocking the bottles off,” says Len, staring down at him. “That brown bear will suffice.”

“You don’t _get_ a prize,” the worker snarls, but he looks ridiculous with cola splattered on his uniform.

“Really?” Len muses. “So you _do_ want your boss to know you’re rigging games and pocketing the profits?”

The worker pales at that. “I-I-I haven’t—”

“The bear, if you will.” Len waits patiently as the worker seethes silently, but he goes to take the brown bear down from the top row. “Thanks,” he drawls, plucking it from the worker’s hands.

When he turns to Barry to hand the bear off, he finds the other man looking at him in amazement. Barry clutches the bear to his chest, two sets of wide, puppy dog eyes staring back at him. “I love you,” Barry says in awe.

“Yeah, yeah,” says Len, leading them towards the other booths. He glances over at Barry with his lips tugging in a small smile. “I told you it was all in the elbows.”

Barry can’t help but laugh.

They play other games, one where they had to pop balloons on a board using darts, and then another where they had to shoot water into a clown’s mouth. Len had beaten Barry in both of those, though Barry had said it was unfair because Len had more practice and “slightly better hand-eye coordination, you damn cheater”. Unfair or not, Len actually enjoyed the stuffed cartoon doughnut and the little monkey with hands that could stick and unstick via Velcro. Said monkey is hanging from Barry’s neck, bouncing against his back with every step.

“Didn’t know you were such a sore loser,” says Len as he twirls the felt doughnut around his finger.

Barry sticks his tongue out at him before adjusting the bear in his arms. He eventually swings the monstrous thing over his back and holds its arms around his neck. “I’m not. You’re just exceptionally good at shooting games.”

“I wonder why.”

Barry stops suddenly, and Len is worried he’s said something wrong, before Barry points at something, grinning widely.

“A photo booth!” he exclaims, like that’s supposed to excite Len. He drags Len towards the booth, shoving him past the curtain.

“I don’t do pictures, Barry,” Len protests.

Barry waves him off, setting the bear and monkey at their feet. “You’ve done mug shots,” he says, scrolling through the options the machine offers.

“That is hardly the same thing,” Len says. He’s overshadowed by Barry’s squeal of excitement.

“Look, isn’t this cute?” he coos. Len looks at the screen to find them inside a frame bordered by hearts of varying sizes and hues of red.

Len turns his head slowly, raising an eyebrow at him. “Is ‘cute’ the right word?”

“Oh, shut up,” Barry says affectionately. “I know somewhere in your big, cold heart you want reminders of this moment.”

“That is definitely what my big, cold heart craves,” Len deadpans.

Barry presses the START button on the screen, and the countdown begins. He quickly smashes his face against Len’s, and Len can literally feel how big Barry is grinning. Len’s unable to stop himself from reciprocating a tiny bit, and the camera goes off.

Barry adjusts his pose, turning to press his lips against Len’s cheek. Len cocks an eyebrow at the camera. It flashes again.

“Barry, this is—”

Ridiculous, Len wants to say, but his lips are suddenly occupied. He’s always, always surprised at how soft Barry’s lips are, at how gentle he can be. The camera flashes a third time. Len hadn’t even realized his eyes had closed until he opens them again.

He pulls back slightly to study Barry’s face, with Barry mirroring him. It’s just so strange how Barry can be the Flash—all bark and all bite _Flash_ who can beat Len to a pulp if he really wanted to—and how he can be Barry Allen, too—loving son, caring citizen, gentle giant with clumsy limbs and a heart too big for his thin body.

The camera flashes for the last time. Len doesn’t move for a long moment, even as Barry ducks outside briefly to grab the photo strip. “Oh, I’m keeping this,” Barry declares fondly, chuckling lightly before tucking it away. He glances at Len again, and his eyes soften at something he finds in Len’s expression. “Come on,” he murmurs, taking Len’s hand. “We still have one last ride to go on.”

x

“Thank you,” says Barry suddenly. They’re about two more stops until the very top of the Ferris wheel, and already it’s chilly. The bear would’ve given them some warmth, but prizes aren’t allowed on the rides, so they are safely tucked away into the cubby by the ride operator.

“For what?” Len asks. He sees Barry shiver slightly and throws an arm around him to pull him closer.

Barry sighs happily, snuggling into Len. “For this,” murmurs Barry. “For everything. I know it isn’t easy… I know the situation we’re in is a mess, but… I’m glad it’s you. I’m glad I fell for you.”

They finally reach the top, and Len is speechless for more reasons other than the view. He can see the entire city from here—the city he grew up in, the city he fights for, the city he loves. Over there, right smack in the middle, he can see city hall. To the left, he can see the worn down buildings, the streets he grew up in. To the right, he can see the abundance of neighborhoods, the suburbs where he knows Barry was raised, all just a few miles away.

“I love you, Len,” he hears Barry whisper, so faint, so quietly that he would’ve missed it had they not been so close together.

Len doesn’t want to let himself bask in how those words make him feel, but way up here, where no one can see him, where no one can hurt them… It’s hard not to.

So he holds Barry closer, gazing out at the city they both love, and—for the first time in a long time—he lets himself feel.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> first off i'd like to apologize for the slight delay in updating, work has been hectic this week. but alas, chapter 4! as always, i hope you guys enjoy this. be warned that the end gets semi-graphic at the end (kinda).

Len knew this was a bad idea to begin with.

He allowed this sudden act of negligence only because he had been feeling a bit euphoric from the night before and it hindered his ability to think clearly. _That_ is why he had agreed to this… this sacrificial act of idiocy that has only been attempted by the incredibly foolish.

“Len, we’re only getting coffee,” says Barry calmly, like he isn’t currently the reason for Len’s probable demise.

Len pulls his baseball cap further down his face as much as he can without cramming his fake glasses into his cheeks. “We’re going to Jitters, Barry. Also known as the place I’m likely to get arrested and sent to Iron Heights to rot in a cell. I cannot believe I let you talk me into this.”

“I love it when you glower,” says Barry with a grin. He traces a finger along Len’s jaw. “Very sexy.”

Len snaps his teeth at Barry’s finger, forcing him to draw back. “I’m sure you’ll find me irresistible in a grey jumpsuit.”

Barry hums thoughtfully. “Everything you wear is sexy.” He shoots Len a sly grin. “If anything at all.”

“Shut up, Barry,” Len sighs tiredly. That feeling of euphoria? Gone.

Barry takes Len’s hand and kisses the pads of his fingertips one by one. “You’re being a grump, Len,” Barry says when he’s finished, and he smiles lightly when Len’s hand curls under his chin to thumb at his lip. “I slept in my own bed last night for you, so I deserve some good coffee.”

“You begged me to keep the door open,” says Len, dropping his hand when he sees an older couple smiling at him. He picks up his pace, and Barry follows along without missing a beat.

“That’s irrelevant.” Barry shrugs. “Besides, no one’s going to recognize you. It’s not like you’re wearing your Captain Cold get up.”

The reminder has Len consciously aware of the awful fabric around him. “Yeah, I’m quite the chameleon in this—god—this _ridiculous_ shirt,” he says, plucking at the front of his grid-patterned button-up.

“You look handsome, Len,” Barry insists.

“I look like a nerd,” says Len. “I look like you.”

Barry shoots Len a dirty look. “You said you wanted to blend in. I consider this blending.”

“Right. Let’s hope a trip to the thrift store can outsmart the CCPD.” Len feels utterly out of place, walking down the popular street. He should be in the shadows, not in broad daylight. The only silver lining is that Barry’s right; people are actually buying into his awful disguise. It’s almost normal to be walking alongside Barry through town.

“Are you nervous about meeting Joe today?” asks Barry gently.

Len shrugs. Nervous isn’t the right word. Annoyed? Inconvenienced? Maybe. Visiting the detective who has it out for him isn’t exactly at the top of his to-do list. “There are worse ways to die,” says Len finally.

Barry’s steps falter briefly. “He’s not going to kill you, Len,” he says with a frown.

“We’ll see,” says Len.

Barry huffs. “We’re going to get amazing coffee and you’re going to stop being a grump and today is going to go great,” he declares.

“Yeah, well, let’s hope this trip is worth it.” After all, Len wants his last drink to be a good one.

The coffee shop finally comes into view, and Barry must have seen Len stiffen because he kisses his cheek before squeezing his hand encouragingly. They enter the shop together, and the aroma is immediately intoxicating. Len’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

Barry looks far too smug. “Told you.”

Len’s eyes flicker around the café. It’s not crowded, just a few tables occupied by couples, students with laptops, and friends catching up. He’s relieved to see there aren’t any cops waiting for him. Once he’s certain that his cover isn’t blown, he glances at the menu.

Len blinks a few times before snorting in disbelief. “Really, Barry? You have a drink named after you?”

Barry grins. “Being a hero does have its perks. You should try it sometime; maybe they’ll name a drink after you.”

Len pretends to contemplate this for a moment. “I’m gonna pass.”

They’re next in line, and Len really can’t help himself, so he orders _The Flash_ and Barry grins before making it two orders. They decide on having it to-go because Len doesn’t want to push their luck, and Barry is already grateful for this outing as it is.

Len beats Barry to the punch and pulls out his wallet. He hands the barista a twenty and tells her to keep the change, which has Barry’s jaw dropping slightly.

“Y-you can’t—” Barry sputters before pulling him aside to wait for their drinks. “Whose wallet did you steal?”

Len tries not to be insulted. “Contrary to popular belief, Barry, I do have money that is my own.”

Barry doesn’t seem like he believes him, but he doesn’t press on. He studies Len silently, his face slowly shifting, and Len recognizes that look. That hungry, teasing look. Barry’s hand rises to gently push Len’s glasses further up his nose.

“You know…” Barry starts, his fingers trailing up Len’s shirt. “These glasses look good on you. Like, really good.”

“They were two dollars.”

“Really, really good,” Barry murmurs on, his hands settling on Len’s hips. “Kinda want to kiss you till they’re all fogged up.”

Len wets his lips, watching as Barry’s eyes follow the movement. “Barry,” he says in warning, but it’s weak and pathetic.

“Just one kiss?” Barry asks quietly, gazing up at him from under his lashes.

Many, many things cross Len’s mind. The fact that they aren’t actually dating is a big, persistent one. He shouldn’t get too comfortable in this, whatever _this_ is, because whatever happens doesn’t mean anything and it will never, ever mean anything.

But Barry’s pulling out all the stops, with his thumbs slightly stroking Len’s skin through his shirt and his big, pleading eyes and the god-forsaken way he’s biting his lip nervously. Len really shouldn’t. He really, really shouldn’t.

The barista calls out their drinks in time to give Len an excuse to break free of the other man’s hold, not missing the sigh of disappointment. He takes a short moment to compose himself before he returns to Barry’s side with their drinks.

“Here,” says Len, and Barry takes his drink as he stares intently at Len. “What?”

“I just want to see your face after your first sip,” Barry replies, batting his eyelashes innocently.

Len resists rolling his eyes. He lifts the paper cup up to his nose to inhale deeply before he takes a small sip. A moan almost escapes at the taste, and Barry looks entirely too satisfied as he sips his own drink.

“Good, huh?”

“You’re ridiculous,” says Len, taking another sip.

“Do you have that much pride that you can’t admit you love _The Flash_?” Barry asks coyly, and Len doesn’t miss the double meaning.

“We’d better go before someone calls the cops,” he says instead.

Barry huffs in amusement, his lips pursed. He presses close to Len, their arms touching. “No cops ever come here anyway,” says Barry. He looks thoughtful as he follows Len to the exit. “Well, except for—”

“ _Barry!_ ” a woman gasps in surprise.

“—Patty…” Barry finishes numbly. He stares at the blond woman entering the shop before he seems to blink some sense into himself. “Patty! Hey!”

Len discreetly detaches himself from Barry’s side to linger by the tables, keeping his chin down, but his ears open. He sips his coffee quietly. Damn, it really is spectacular.

“Barry, it’s great to see you!” he hears the blond woman say. “You look good for someone who’s been bed-ridden. Ah, good as in healthy! Not… you know… hot. Um—”

“Patty, it’s nice to see you, too!” Barry cuts in hurriedly.

Len turns partially to find “Patty” holding the heel of her palm to her temple in embarrassment and Barry looking very sheepish. “Who’s this?” she asks, gesturing to Len as if to take the attention away from the flush in her cheeks.

Len stiffens, hoping Barry will at least have the mind to act like they don’t know each other.

“Oh, that’s my boyfriend,” Barry says proudly, and Len groans internally. “Len, honey, come here.”

Len doesn’t budge from his position beside the table until Barry grabs his arm and tugs him back. “Barry, no,” he says under his breath, fighting back gently.

“He’s just a little shy,” Barry explains before he traps Len there with an arm around his waist. “Patty, Len. Len, Patty.”

Len clears his throat as he faces Patty, keeping the bill of his hat well over his eyes. “Hello,” he says gruffly.

“It’s nice to meet you!” Patty says, her cheeks incredibly flushed. She tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear and her blazer opens slightly to reveal the badge fastened to her hip.

Len’s foot twitches in an aborted step, hitting Barry’s sneaker briefly, his instincts screaming at him to fight or flee. “Likewise,” Len says, his eyes trained on the dent in her jacket that he knows is her gun.

“I’m happy for you, Barry,” Patty continues. “Kind of good we didn’t work out, right?” And then her eyes bug out a bit as she bites her lip.

Len’s eyes narrow, flickering between Barry and Patty. “Oh, you two dated?” asks Len with as much nonchalance he can manage.

“Briefly,” Patty says, and Barry is suspiciously quiet. Something ticks in Len’s stomach, rising up to his throat, making the hair on the back of his neck rise. He takes another sip of his coffee.

Barry laughs nervously, though it sounds a bit strangled. “So, how have you been, Patty?” Barry asks. The arm around Len pulls back slightly to rub circles into Len’s back. Len starts to relax, suddenly realizing how stiff he’d been.

“I’m great,” assures Patty with a nod. “Though, I should be asking you that question—you’re the one who’s been M.I.A.”

Barry freezes for a second. “Yeah, I, uh, was deathly sick and now I’m just taking some personal time to, uh, to deal with… something.”

Barry is quite possibly the worst liar in the history of the world. Len takes pity on him.

“He’s been helping me cope with the passing of my father,” says Len smoothly. It wasn’t entirely a lie; his father _had_ passed months ago. Though, Len had only needed about a day to cope before resuming his normal life, finally free of that bastard.

Patty nods sympathetically, her eyebrows drawing together. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Len says. He ducks his head slightly when Patty stares a little too intently at his face. “We’re actually on our way to meet with the florist.”

Patty nods quickly. “Right. Gotcha. I just—I’m sorry, I’ve been meaning to ask for some help, and since I’ve got you here, Barry… Just a quick question?”

Len exchanges a glance with Barry. He sighs quietly through his nose before motioning with his head.

“Go for it,” says Barry, nodding.

Patty beams before diving into an explanation of a case she’s working on where the chemistry of it all doesn’t quite make sense.

Len tunes out after the words _thermogravimetric analysis_ and instead settles on watching how Barry animatedly explains the science behind it, his free arm waving around his coffee with emphasis, his eyes sparking with passion. It’s almost endearing.

Okay, it _is_ endearing, but Len isn’t ever going to say that out loud. He’d been so focused on the superhero part of Barry that he paid the forensics side of him little attention, and what a shame that was.

“… so it’d be wise for a retest,” Barry is saying.

“I’m definitely going to talk to the labs guys about that.” She smiles at Barry. “Thank you so much.”

It’s only when he hears the softness of her voice that Len notices the effect Barry seems to have on her. He doesn’t really like the way Patty’s blushing at Barry, or how her eyes are lingering on his face, his lips…

“Just don’t make the chemists angry,” says Barry, his lips twitching. “We wouldn’t want them to… overreact.”

Patty and Barry both burst out laughing. Len had been fine with all this nerd talk—it’s all fine, really, until Patty playfully squeezes Barry’s arm as their laughter subsides.

“Barry?” Len murmurs, and Barry turns to him, his lips still in a smile.

Len tilts Barry’s face up and presses their lips together, angled in a way that his hat doesn’t go flying off. It’s chaste, by all means, but Barry’s hand still tightens around Len. He thumbs at his cheek lightly before drawing back, watching as Barry chases his lips.

“We have to go, remember?” Len reminds him softly.

Barry’s eyes flutter open, his lips slightly parted. “Huh…”

“To the florist?” Len prompts.

“Florist…”

“It was nice to meet you, Patty,” says Len at the blushing woman. “We must get going.”

“O-okay, bye Len. Hope to see you back at work soon, Barry,” she says, her hand raising in farewell.

Barry makes a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat, his eyes never once leaving Len.

Len leads them to the exit, feeling the knot in his stomach loosen as he’s back in the fresh air with Barry under his arm again. They reach the safety of the shaded sidewalk without a hitch, heading back towards the apartment.

“You can stop staring,” says Len, giving Barry a side-long glance.

Barry continues to stare at him anyway. “Len, are you jealous?” he practically slurs, like he’s drunk off the realization.

“I don’t get jealous,” Len replies, because he just doesn’t. He was obviously trying to get them out of there fast before any other cops could show up. Obviously.

“You’re jealous,” Barry grins, giddy, and then presses his cheek into Len’s shoulder. “I knew it. You love me.”

“I don’t,” Len says, almost automatically, but Barry continues to hum happily.

“Whatever you say, Len.”

x

Len was long overdue for a gun aimed at his face.

Frankly, he missed it. It sent adrenaline through his veins, getting his heart pumping, his body ready to fight the culprit.

And Len would have done it, if only the gun didn’t belong to Joe West.

Didn’t he tell Barry he was going to get shot? He should have made an actual bet; he would’ve made some real money. Len was content with letting Barry see his foster dad alone, but Barry needed him, his support, and now look where that’s got him.

Barry had let Len pull a sweater over his crime scene of a shirt, so at least his body isn’t going to be found in such an incriminating state. It’s too bad the hat and glasses were left in the car; Barry had really liked those.

“I should’a known it was you, Snart,” West snarls, his hand cocking the gun. Len rolls his eyes at the dramatics. West isn’t going to shoot an unarmed man on his own porch, especially not with Barry right inside the house. But then again, he _is_ Leonard Snart and nobody would be missing him. “You got Barry thinkin’ all kinds of nonsense.”

“Spare me the theatrics, Detective,” drawls Len, tilting his head. “Barry isn’t going to be very happy with you when he finds out you’re threatening his boyfriend.”

West is practically shaking with anger, which Len finds endlessly amusing. “You are _not_ his boyfriend.”

“Try telling him that,” says Len, and he dodges the fist aimed at his jaw. He narrows his eyes. “What exactly did Cisco tell you?”

West seems to be gathering his bearings before he answers venomously. “That the meta-human hit Barry with one of her love arrows and he’s all messed up from it.”

“Ah,” says Len, his eyebrows raising. “So now you know he’s in love with _me_.” A part of Len takes great satisfaction in saying that, enjoying the way it feels on his tongue, the claim it possesses.

“He only _thinks_ he’s in love with you!” West spits. His voice is getting dangerously loud now, and soon not even the solid oak of the door will be able to stop the sounds of their arguing.

“So you see my problem,” Len says flatly. “For your information, Detective, I am actually trying to _help_ Barry.”

West snorts, his face full of comic disbelief. “And how do I know that you and this meta aren’t working together? That you aren’t using Barry for his powers? The perfect score, hmm?”

It’s Len that snorts this time. “I’m flattered you think I could be so cunning,” says Len, “and heartless. However, that isn’t the case. Sorry to disappoint.”

“You’re nothing but a low life, _scum sucking_ —”

The door swings open and Barry is immediately startled at the cocked gun. “Joe!” he gasps, his hands flailing slightly. “What are you doing? Put that away!”

“Go back inside, Barr,” West grits out.

“No, I gave you the minute you wanted with Len,” he argues shakily. “Now, please, put your gun away!”

“You heard him, Detective,” says Len with a smirk. “Can’t damage the goods.”

Len is suddenly slammed into the wall, one of West’s hands gripping his collar while the other holds the gun to the side of his throat. Len keeps his glare locked onto West’s as a growl rumbles deep in his chest.

“You think I won’t kill you?” West mutters quickly, threateningly. “You’re underestimating how much I love my son.”

“Joe!” Barry cries out. “Joe, please! Stop!”

“Then kill me,” Len challenges, his chin jutting out proudly.

“Nothing would please me more than to wipe that smug grin off your face.”

Before Len can decide how painfully he wants to disarm West, he’s distracted by a high pitched beeping.

“P-please…” Barry chokes out weakly.

“Hey,” says Len numbly, his eyes landing on Barry. His eyes widen when he sees the watch flashing red. “Hey! Get your hands off me, West!” he snarls, shoving against him. The watch is screeching by now, loud and angry, like nails on chalkboard. Barry slumps back into the closed door, his face full of panic and confusion.

West, the damn idiot, finally releases Len more out of shock than anything, and Len scrabbles to catch Barry before he can collapse.

“Hey, you’re okay,” Len assures him, lowering him gently. Barry’s wide-eyed beneath him, nearly hyperventilating, his chest rising and falling too rapidly. “You’re okay, Barry.”

“L-L-Len, y-you…” His hands clutch desperately at Len’s forearms.

“Don’t talk, Barry. Just breathe. I’m okay. We’re all okay.” Len continues to murmur safe reassurances and reminders to breathe deeply and slowly until Barry starts to relax, and his monitor returns to normal.

“No more arguing,” croaks Barry, sounding like he’d just gargled broken glass. “No more fighting. Please.”

“You hear that, West?” Len peers over his shoulder to look at the stunned man. “Guess we have to be civil now.”

West grinds his teeth together, but allows Len to help Barry to his feet. The detective holsters his gun before he opens the door for them, his face blank aside from his clenched jaws.

“Hold me, please?” murmurs Barry as they pass the threshold. Len leads them to the nearest couch before settling on it. He pulls Barry flush to his side, rubbing up and down his arm soothingly. “Thank you,” he sighs, dropping his cheek onto Len’s shoulder.

“I’ll, ah, make some coffee,” West mutters before retreating to the kitchen.

Len’s phone is immediately bombarded with texts from Cisco, all ranging from capital letters, to question marks, and just plain exclamation points. Len sends a simple **He’s fine** before pocketing his phone to focus his attention back onto Barry.

“Are you okay?” Len asks. He can’t see Barry’s face, but he can feel the tension in his shoulders. The other man is quiet for a few minutes, with Len becoming increasingly worried.

“I love Joe. He’s like my dad, you know?” Barry murmurs sadly. “But I love you, too. So much, it hurts... and seeing you two going at it like that—” He breaks off, shaking his head.

“I’m sorry, Barry,” he says. He pulls back slightly to examine Barry’s face. He looks so tired. Len feels his stomach churn with guilt.

West clears his throat as he enters the room again, and Len tries not to glare as he takes a seat across from them. They stare at each other for a very long moment. Barry stiffens beside him as it stretches on uncomfortably, and Len begins to rub his arm again.

“Get your hands—” West starts, but Len cuts him off.

“ _Can’t_. Sorry,” he says, though he isn’t sorry in the slightest. “It calms him, as you saw before.” He says this almost accusingly, though he knows it was both of their faults for setting Barry off like that.

“I think I’m gonna be sick,” says West.

Len’s hand curls over Barry’s. “Get used to it.”

There’s another long moment of silence. Len uses this time to scan over the many pictures hung on the walls, propped against the tables. Barry looks so happy in each of them.

“I never thought I’d have Captain Cold on my couch,” West says finally.

Len smirks a little at his alter-ego. “This isn’t exactly a dream come true for me, either, West.”

“Really?” huffs West, his eyes hard. “Like you aren’t casing my house for future reference right now?”

Len flickers his wandering eyes back to West’s, a humorless smile on his face. “It’s one of my bad habits.”

“Right. Like robbing banks on your free time.”

“I admit to nothing. Though, hypothetically, that’s more of a hobby,” explains Len innocently.

“Would you two stop already?” Barry says suddenly. Len had thought he’d fallen asleep; he’d been so quiet. “Joe, you wanted to see me. Here I am. Can you please stop interrogating Len?”

“Len,” repeats West blankly. “Since when is he ‘Len’?”

Barry sits up slightly, still supported by Len’s side but now Len is able to see his face. “I love him, Joe. I need you to be okay with this.”

“Are you hearing yourself, Barr?” West demands in disbelief. “This is the man who made it his mission to kill you, remember that?”

Barry frowns at him. “Things changed.”

“No,” says West, shaking his head. “You only think they did because of the meta-human.”

“Even before that,” Barry protests. “Things were different. He never hurt me after the incident at Ferris Air. Just annoyingly dramatic with his escapades. And he’s been sweet to me.”

“Kind of ruining my street cred, kid,” says Len. Barry grins at him, and Len always wonders how Barry’s eyes can be so expressive, so telling of how fond he is of Len.

“Quit looking at him like that, Snart,” West growls.

Len turns his eyes back to West, utterly annoyed. It seems like everything Len does is something that warrants an arrest. “Like what?”

“Like you actually give a damn about him because we both know that isn’t true,” West says harshly.

Len starts to rise from his seat, his hands balled into fists, but Barry holds him down. “It’d be wise to count the blessings you have that I’m the one keeping his heart beating instead of someone less forgiving,” growls Len. “I could leave right now if I wanted to.”

Barry’s hand tightens on Len’s sleeve.

“Stay,” says a voice, and Len turns to find Iris hovering close to the wall, stepping into the living room. She shuts the front door fully as she eyes Len warily, but with some kind of desperation.

“Iris,” says West in warning, a bit of fear leaking into his eyes like he thinks Len is going to suddenly attack her.

“If _you’re_ the one keeping Barry alive, then you have to stay.” She juts her chin out a bit, the same proud look he has seen on her father.

“Don’t worry, I’m not a monster,” Len shoots back coldly.

“Iris!” says Barry, and he moves slightly like he wants to properly greet her, but doesn’t want to detach himself from Len. “How are you and Eddie doing? Okay?”

Iris offers Barry a small smile, still tense by the door. “We’re great, Barry. More worried about you, actually. I paid a visit to S.T.A.R. Labs and had Cisco tell me every single detail, but he had left out the… _who_ of it.”

Len’s getting awfully tired of this. He waits for Iris to pull out her own gun and hold it to his head in another face-off that has Barry on the verge of death for the second time today, but it doesn’t come. Instead, she does something that is quite possibly a thousand times worse.

She _thanks_ him.

Legitimately. An actual, “Thank you for saving his life,” comes out of her mouth, no sarcasm, no condescending tone, nothing.

Len stares at her for a long moment, trying to assess the situation. “S’no problem,” says Len eventually, despite the mountain of problems he had and will continue to deal with.

“Dad,” she says to West. “I know this is weird—trust me, I _know_ —but Cisco and Caitlin seem to trust him enough. We should, too.”

“He’s not gonna hurt me,” Barry says quietly, and there it is again.

Len feels something indiscernible in the pit of his stomach. He doesn’t know if he’s comfortable with Barry placing bets on him like that, promising others of his good-streak. Being expected to help because he’s paying off a debt? That’s fine. Being expected to help because there’s _good_ in him? That, he doesn’t think he can live up to. No matter how hard he tries, he’s only going to end up disappointing everyone involved, especially Barry.

“Yeah, he ain’t, or the last thing he’s gonna see is my gun,” West says, his face relaxed, but his eyes are so sharp it’s a wonder Len isn’t bleeding out.

Iris has finally made her way to her father’s side, swatting him gently and telling him to play nice. Len is almost thankful for her when she launches into a lengthy description of the stuff she had uncovered in the last few days, the news articles she’s been writing, just generally filling the room with something other than tense silence.

Len’s practically having a staring contest with West across from him, as Barry explains to Iris what he’d been up to, thankfully leaving out the embarrassing bits that paint Len as an awful excuse for a villain. He feels Barry squeezing him as he emphasizes certain parts of the stories, at one point grabbing his elbow (“And he knocked them off here—it was hilarious!”) but Len is entirely focused on the man obviously playing at some kind of game here. It’s a dominance thing, something neither of them are going to win at this rate.

It isn’t long before Iris makes plans to meet again soon, having enough of the glares shooting across the room and deciding that it was enough for one day. They all rise to their feet, but Iris pulls Barry aside to talk to him privately. Len is assuming it’s to check if he’s really okay, if it’s any indication by the worry he sees in her eyes. He sees Barry nodding his head continuously, like he’s being lectured and has to show he’s listening. Before he can strain to hear the conversation, though, West clears his throat and motions him over by a jerk of his chin.

“I expected to hear some shovel talk,” says Len calmly as he props himself against the wall.

West looks like he wants to scrub down his entire house with holy water. “Shut it, Snart. Just because I have to deal with you for the time being doesn’t mean I have to enjoy it.”

Len raises an eyebrow. “You’ve got a whole arsenal of threats on stand-by, don’t you? Let’s hear it, then.”

“Boy, you really are looking for the ass whooping of the century, aren’t you?”

“That’s a big statement, considering we’re not even two decades in.” Len doesn’t really know why it brings him such amusement to wave a red flag in front of a charging bull; it just does. But West isn’t amused—in fact, he looks more serious than Len has ever seen him before.

“I’m only gonna say this once, so you better listen. If I find out that you’re using Barry, or if you hurt him in any way…” West taps a finger on his holstered gun. “… I won’t hesitate to shoot you.”

Len searches his eyes, looking for something that might give away his bluff, but finds nothing. Barry comes up to hug West, tearing his unwavering eyes away from Len’s.

“Take care of yourself, all right, Barr?” he says into Barry’s hair. “I want you to visit often until this whole ordeal’s over.”

Barry offers a small smile before squeezing West’s shoulder and pulling back. “I will, Joe. I’ll see you soon.”

Len doesn’t spare West another glance, only nods in acknowledgement to Iris, whose eyes flicker to the arm he has around Barry. She says nothing to Len, only bidding a farewell to Barry before he leads them both out. His jaw is getting a bit sore from clenching and unclenching so harshly.

It isn’t like Len doesn’t know he’s a criminal. It’s who he is; it’s in his blood. Of course he knows. It’s like they _want_ him to slip up and use Barry for his own ulterior motives. He can if he really wanted to. A part of him wants to, just to spite that damned West in the best (worst) way possible. But Barry’s face, pale and lifeless, flashes through his mind, and he has to swallow back the nausea rising from the back of his throat.

West was right; there had been a time when he wanted to put the Flash down, but things changed. Things are different. Len saw a new challenger, a new opponent, one he had far too much fun besting to just end the game for good. This meta attack was something he couldn’t have planned for, something he couldn’t have expected to throw a wrench into his plans. He has to up his game again, and he doesn’t quite know where that will take him. He hates not knowing, hates not being in control.

He slams the car door shut a bit more forcibly than needed. Barry peers at him from his own seat as soon as he’s settled.

“Are you okay?” Barry’s voice is gentle, like it always is because that’s just the person Barry is—so giving and so selfless, a real hero. It only reminds Len that he doesn’t deserve any of it.

“I’m fine,” Len says flatly, and whether or not Barry believes it, he doesn’t ask again.

x

The TV casts a warm glow over the ceiling as Len stares up at it from his lounging position on the couch. He can’t stop thinking about what happened. No matter how hard he tries, he just finds his mind drifting back to the earlier conversation.

“Len, talk to me, please?” says Barry for what seems like the fifth time. He’s watching Len from the kitchen chair, waiting on yet another batch of cookies that he took the time to bake. Len is starting to realize this is probably some stress-relieving exercise.

Instead of answering with his usual grunt of dismissal, Len sighs.

“There’s nothing to talk about, Barry,” he says, and Barry immediately straightens up at hearing his voice again. Len hates how that makes him feel a little better, seeing how responsive Barry is to him. It shouldn’t make him feel any way.

“I know seeing Joe today was a little…” Barry doesn’t seem to know the right word, but Len understands. “… yeah. But everything’s fine now. Well, as fine as it could be.”

“Fine,” Len echoes. “Yeah.”

Barry frowns at him. He takes a few steps over to Len, but stops to pick something from the ground. “Oh, I love this hat,” says Barry fondly, twisting it in his hands. Len had almost forgot he’d thrown it there on the way in.

Barry contemplates the hat for a moment before he raises it to secure over his head so that the bill is facing backwards. Len promptly loses his train of thought.

Barry catches his reflection on the wall mirror before chuckling to himself, making to take it off.

“Keep it on,” says Len before he can stop himself.

Barry blinks at him, his hands lowering. “Oh, you like?” he asks, waggling his eyebrows.

Idiot. “Shut up,” says Len without anger. Barry’s grin widens as he saunters over to the couch, his head tipping teasingly.

“ _Len_ ,” he almost sings.

“I said quiet, you,” Len says, halfheartedly swatting at Barry’s grabby hands. All the air is knocked out of him as Barry launches himself onto Len.

“I love you,” he says into Len’s neck before pressing his lips there.

Len nudges him away with his head, feeling a bit ticklish. “You keep saying that, but I’m always the one getting bruised by your bony elbows.”

“Those are love bruises.” Barry props himself on said bony elbows, right in Len’s chest. Love bruises, right.

Len reaches up to fiddle with the baseball cap, tugging down the bill until a tuft of hair pokes out of the opening above the snap. Barry watches Len silently as his hands lower again.

Barry slides his arm up, his fingers outstretched to skim along Len’s face. Len lets him, enjoying the feel of the other man’s fingertips along his skin. Barry traces over the line of his eyebrows, his cheekbones, his freckle, his jaw, before caressing his face in both hands. Barry shifts down gently, slowly, so Len has time to pull away, but the few seconds he’s given is not nearly enough time to quiet the war going on in his head between his desire and his control.

The second their lips touch, Len knows he’s finished, his control be damned. It’s slow and gentle, just the lazy movements of lips and slow swipes of tongue. Barry releases a low moan from the back of his throat when Len’s hands knead into his hips, and Len is almost positive his brain short-circuits from the sound alone. It’s addicting how warm Barry is, how utterly responsive he is with his little hitching breaths every time Len thumbs at his hipbones. He wants to hear more of it, see what other noises he can coax out from behind those lips, see how desperate Barry can be for more…

“Barry,” Len murmurs into his lips, “we should stop.”

“We should,” Barry agrees, but neither of them pull away.

It isn’t until Len feels Barry hardening against his thigh that he turns his face away, panting slightly.

“I’m serious,” says Len as steadily as he can.

“You’re always serious.”

“Barry.”

Barry pulls away with a sigh and rests his forehead against Len’s. “I want you,” Barry whispers, his breath warm against his lips. “I want you so bad.”

“You don’t,” Len says, because he has to remind Barry, again and again.

“I do.” He rocks against Len, grinding them together. Len’s hands tighten on Barry’s hip to keep him still, barely containing his groan of pleasure. At this rate, both of them are going to end up at the point of no return. He has to stop, but… Barry’s so warm, a comforting weight over him. He can practically feel his resolve shattering, and it seems like Barry can, too, because he’s connecting their lips again, kissing in earnest now.

Len growls, surging up. He presses forward until Barry falls onto his back, crowding over him. His hat is knocked to the floor in the frenzy, but Len can’t find himself to care at the moment.

“Yes, yes!” gasps Barry, and then he moans as Len kisses him roughly, their tongues tangling hot and wet. Len pulls back to scrape the stubble of his jaw across Barry’s before ducking down to nose into the soft skin of his neck.

Barry’s trembling underneath him, his legs wrapped tight around his hip and his hands clawing at his shoulder blades. Len bites more than kisses him, more teeth than tongue, before pulling back to examine his work. Barry’s hair is disheveled, his mouth hanging open from how heavily he’s panting, flushed all the way down to his neck.

Len’s about to dive in again, to show Barry just how good they can be together, until he catches the movement deep within Barry’s eyes.

“Len?” Barry murmurs when he feels Len’s body seize up.

Len watches as the man’s pupils ripple, like a black pond disturbed by a stray pebble.

It’s like a splash of cold water on him, and the heat of the moment is replaced by a chilling sensation running up his spine. He feels sick. He shouldn’t be doing this. Why is he—?

He tears himself from Barry’s grip and stumbles to his feet.

“Len,” Barry says again, confused this time. His legs are still sprawled open, his breathing ragged. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t…” starts Len helplessly. He presses a hand against his temple, shaking his head gently. He doesn’t want it to happen this way. Not like this…

When he chances a look at Barry again, he feels a sharp pang of guilt at the pain so evident on his face.

“You don’t want to do this,” says Barry blankly.

“I’m sorry, Barry,” says Len, unable to meet his eyes.

“No, don’t be. I’m—god, I feel like an idiot.” Barry lets out a humorless laugh before rubbing a hand over his face. He takes a long moment to collect himself before he gets to his feet. “It’s okay. I love you, Len. Beyond physicality, I love you. It’s okay. Really.”

“Barry…”

Barry presses a chaste kiss to his lips before he can say any more, something that feels like an apology. “I want you,” Barry murmurs sadly, “but not when you don’t want me, too.”

It’s the shaky intake of breath that almost breaks Len. Barry pulls away to return to the kitchen to start another batch of something, and all Len’s mind can do is scream _I do want you, I want you so much_.

Len watches him, his insides churning with pain and desire, with want and need. If only Barry, the _real_ Barry, knew how much Len wants him—would he be afraid? Would he run away? Or would he let Len take him apart underneath his fingers, his tongue, until Barry’s begging to be fucked? Would he let Len open him with his fingers, slowly, teasingly, one by one until Barry’s squirming and panting and moaning and begging for more? Would he let Len whisper low into his ear how filthy, desperate, and wanton he is? How he’s being so good for Len, taking his cock so prettily as he whines and clenches around him until he’s fully seated? And maybe Barry would make these cut-off noises, as if Len’s thrusts were fucking the sounds right out of him, holding onto him for dear life with his nails leaving red scratches along his back. Would he want that? When the bed’s knocking into the wall and the only thing Barry knows is Len’s name, would he scream himself hoarse until he loses his last bit of coherency? And when they are both at the peak of their climaxes, almost tumbling over the edge, would he let Len bite into his neck, mark him for the entire world to see, _claim_ him so no others will dare touch him?

Then Len remembers that this is Barry Allen underneath it all; of course he wouldn’t.


	5. Chapter 5

They don’t talk about last night.

That doesn’t mean Len isn’t thinking about it. He’s definitely doing his fair share of that; in fact, it’s all that has been on his mind from the second he’d opened his eyes this morning. It makes Len feel a little queasy when he thinks too hard about it, so he tries to keep his thoughts floating on some level of awareness that is enough to remind him to ignore the fluttering he feels inside him, but not deep enough to send him gripping the bathroom sink and glaring at himself in a fit of disgust and anger. Not again, anyway.

And Barry?

Barry is a god damn saint about it and it’s upsetting Len more than it should. Can’t Barry just throw a few good punches at him for good measure? Or maybe just yell at him a little bit?

But no—he doesn’t do any of those things. If anything, he’s being extra _nice,_ like that’s even possible. Barry still hovers close by and acts like nothing had happened, offering him drinks and baked goods. He even fluffs the couch pillows when Len returns from the bathroom and he doesn’t even take a peek at the plans for the heist laid out on the table.

The only thing Barry is considerably awful at is keeping his hands to himself. Len means that in the most innocent way possible. Barry’s hands tend to stray like they have a mind of their own, seeking out a part of Len to brush against.

Len gets it; Barry feels the need to be close to him no matter what, past moments of sexually frustrated awkwardness be damned. He _gets_ it, he really does, but knowing that doesn’t make it any better. Even Barry seems to be a bit embarrassed every time he finds his hands somewhere on Len, mostly his arms or his hands, and he pulls back with apologetic grimaces every time, which—well, it really shouldn’t be this complicated.

Len is practically a master of deceit and willful destruction, of order and creed, and it hardly makes sense that the cause of his downfall takes the form of a one-seventy-something pound mass of lanky limbs and too-expressive doe eyes. Len lives for the thrill, the _chase_ , and he doesn’t like to think about how he’s been domesticated because of his penchant for floppy hair and green eyes.

And yeah, okay, maybe it’s not too bad now, but that’s always how bad endings begin. It’s all fun and games until someone ends up in jail. Or dead. With Len’s line of work, it’s one or the other. He can’t think about that now.

Their apartment—and Len doesn’t quite know when it became _theirs_ , just had the sudden realization that it _was_ —had become a hotbox of tension, or maybe it’s just Len who thinks so. It wasn’t the harmful kind of tension, but the frustrating kind.

The kind that forced him to focus extra hard to keep his eyes on Barry’s and not the way his lips tug in a sort of half-smile as he talks to fill the room, or the way his hips sway to the faint hum of the music from his record player, or the way his fingers—

Len feels those fingers brush against his skin again. He glances at their position curled around his arm before turning his eyes to Barry’s face. The other man doesn’t even notice at first, only realizing when Len doesn’t reply to his musings about the superhero movie they’re watching—something about how it’d be cool to be able to regenerate a hand like that.

Barry looks akin to a deer in headlights before his hand retreats to drop into his lap.

“Barry,” says Len, but Barry doesn’t meet his eyes. He tries again, softer, “Barry…”

Barry peeks up from under his lashes, his face tense as if he’s waiting to be scolded like a child who’d been caught stealing from the cookie jar. “Sorry,” Barry murmurs. He fiddles with the bottom of his shirt as Len sighs.

This is stupid. The whole situation is a testament to his ability to stop himself from icing the entire city in frustration. It isn’t either of their faults, he knows, but that doesn’t mean he can’t spend his energy silently seething at the faceless meta that’s _still_ on the run. Len might deserve this, but Barry sure as hell doesn’t, and why should Len stand in the way of something that can make it a little more bearable for Barry?

“This isn’t working,” Len says. Barry’s eyes widen, his watch flickering before Len hurries to correct himself. “No, I mean… I don’t—I don’t want you to be miserable, Barry. You want to touch me. I know you do—”

“Not—” Barry’s hands flail desperately. “Not like _that_. I mean. I do, but I swear I’m not trying anything… I just…”

“I know. You just want to be close to me,” supplies Len quietly. Barry nods, his lips not quite in a frown but getting there.

“But I know you don’t like it.” Barry looks dejected, but understanding. It sends a pang of guilt in his gut. He could very easily let Barry believe that, make things a bit easier in the long run, but finds an ache so deep in his chest it almost wracks his entire body. Barry seems to take Len’s silence as confirmation, his cheeks heating in embarrassment. “I’m sorry. I’ll try to…”

Barry trails off as Len gently takes his hand. He stares blankly at their interlocked hands before his eyebrows furrow in concentration, like it’s some equation he’s trying to work out. It’s possible Len’s trying to work out the exact same thing.

“This,” Len says carefully, watching Barry’s widening eyes flicker to his. Len squeezes his hand lightly. “This, I can do.”

Barry stares at him, his eyes flitting from their clasped hands to his eyes multiple times. He bites his lip, unsure, like this is some kind of trap. “Len…”

“I’m saying it’s fine, Barry,” assures Len. “This is okay.”

“Okay?” repeats Barry, a little dazed. He squeezes experimentally before rubbing his thumb over Len’s.

“Yes,” says Len, giving a small nod. “But for everything else… ask first, okay?” He tries not to think too much on what _everything else_ is exactly. He isn’t that much of a masochist.

“Can I, um—or can you—” Barry trips over his words in his haste to get them out. He eyes Len hopefully. “Can you hold me?”

Len contemplates this for a moment. This is first degree cuddling. Hardly any reason for pause. And yeah, maybe Len has missed this. He knows it’s dangerous to get accustomed to something as simple as gentle touches, but he figures that Barry’s going to get fixed soon so he may as well enjoy it (responsibly) while he can. It’s innocent, completely innocent. It’ll be fine…

Len raises his elbow. “Come on, then,” he encourages, nodding gently.

Barry looks so relieved that Len has to work to control the expression on his face. Barry immediately buries himself into the cocoon of Len’s arm, pressing his cheek against Len’s shoulder like he’s starved for touch.

“Thank you, thank you,” murmurs Barry gratefully, nuzzling into him as Len drops his arm to seal him in.

Len focuses on the TV, not really seeing, just enjoying the warmth of the man beside him. Maybe he’s a bit of a masochist after all.

x

Sunday is Len’s favorite day because it is basically the universal lazy day. It also means a trip to the farmer’s market, something he takes very seriously because fresh produce is everything to him (not including the rush of a heist, or Barry). He’s in casual clothing—just a light sweater, since it’s a bit windy, and his favorite black jeans. Barry’s in his usual brand of Slightly Cold Nerd, meaning a sweater over his button up and his sneakers tied with drooping loops that bounce with every step.

It’s quiet at the farmer’s market today despite the generous crowd browsing. Len doesn’t have to worry about his identity here because everyone minds their own business, never giving him or Barry a second glance as they shop. Well, Len shops. Barry just hovers and tries to get Len’s attention.

Len’s inspecting a basket of blueberries with a practiced eye when Barry tugs at his sleeve, _again_. But this is serious. Blueberries are serious. He doesn’t want them too tart, or too sweet. They have to be _perfect_.

“Len,” whines Barry.

When Len spares him a short glance a moment later, he finds Barry glaring at the blueberries like they’ve personally offended him. Len’s eyes are back on the fruit before Barry can meet his gaze, which has the other man wailing solemnly.

Len would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy Barry trying to vie for his attention every second. It’s flattering and it gives a healthy boost to Len’s ego, but it’s also very annoying. He’s almost positive his sweater has little stretch peaks from Barry’s constant tugging, but other than that, Barry doesn’t make any other attempts to touch him without his permission. Len appreciates that.

Once Len is satisfied with the blueberries, he places it into his bag before moving on to the melons. There can never be too much fruit or vegetable in his household. Lisa and Mick are always on him about stocking up with things they’ll actually eat instead of “rabbit food”, but Len isn’t very keen on allowing his rogues to be wiped out by something like high cholesterol.

“Len,” sighs Barry again, but Len is too busy squeezing the melons and weighing them in his palm. He takes a few minutes before he picks his favorite and adds it to the bag, careful not to crush the blueberries.

He hears Barry sigh in exasperation behind him. “You’re such a food snob,” mutters Barry, and _that_ has Len shooting him an incredulous look. Barry preens under the attention, immediately standing up straighter, despite the look on Len’s face.

“Food snob?” repeats Len, his eyes narrowing. “That’s rich, coming from the guy who thinks dinosaur-shaped chicken is an appropriate meal.”

Barry doesn’t look impressed. “It’s cuisine at its finest,” he defends.

“It’s blended chicken and bread crumbs.”

Barry picks a grape off a stem and rolls it between his fingers. “I guess my palate is just more refined than yours,” he says before tossing the grape up and missing his mouth completely.

“ _Your—?_ Shut up, Barry,” mutters Len, and though he sighs in exasperation, there’s a hint of a smile tugging at his lips as he turns back to the fruit. Right, kiwis. He picks one up and brushes his thumb over the fuzzy skin as he feels for imperfections.

“You look really good today,” says Barry, like he’s commenting on the weather. He’s hovering so close behind Len that he can feel his heat.

“Thank you, Barry,” says Len. Does he really need this many kiwis? He puts three back from his handful, but then picks up one more.

“Can I kiss you?” Barry asks.

Len freezes for a moment before regaining his composure. “No,” he says as he eyes some shiny apples.

“Okay,” says Barry simply. Len doesn’t know if he’s relieved or disappointed. He picks four apples before moving on to the strawberries.

Barry remains close as Len continues to shop, and even samples the small fruits when Len holds it out for him, though Len quickly learns this is something tailor made for his demise if Barry’s pornographic moans are anything to go by. It makes a few of the sellers glance up with raised eyebrows and Len pretends like the back of his neck isn’t heating up from the way Barry’s tongue flicks against the pad of his fingers to coax the rest of the berry into his mouth. It’s the sun, damn it. That pesky sun…

“What?” asks Barry after he’s thoroughly wiped the remaining juices off his lips. With his tongue.

Damn it.

“Nothing,” says Len.

They head home when everything’s paid for and Len’s got an armful of Barry tucked into his left side. He had hesitated at first when Barry had asked, but Barry’s been good about… taking things slow, for lack of better words. And if he can make Barry grin that big just from the way their steps all line up—well, it’s worth it.

x

The groceries are all placed in their respective areas before Len ducks into his bedroom to grab a few blankets since Barry seems to be perpetually cold inside the apartment despite the fact that Len keeps it a few degrees warmer than usual. He’s barely got the blankets bundled in his arms before he hears the distant sound of beeping coming from the living room. He recognizes it immediately as Barry’s watch, but Barry knows Len’s only in the next room over. It hasn’t been a problem before.

Len retrieves his cold gun before exiting the room swiftly, making sure to stay close to the wall. He hears nothing except for the increasing beeps before he whips out from behind the corner, cold gun charged and aimed at—

“ _Lisa?_ ”

Lisa has her gold gun pointed at Barry, who has his hands raised slightly and looking very much like he’s going to be sick.

“Hi, Lenny,” Lisa says, sickly sweet. “Any reason why there’s a _badge_ in your apartment?”

Len’s eyes flicker to Barry’s wallet haphazardly thrown onto the kitchen counter, no doubt where his CCPD ID is tucked in. The unhelpful part of Len’s brain refuses to ignore the fact that Lisa had to have touched him to retrieve the wallet.

Len sighs heavily and powers down his cold gun before setting it down gently. As expected, Lisa does the same, but she doesn’t look any less placated.

Barry’s still on the edge of completely losing it, so Len strides over to block him from Lisa’s intense scrutiny. He lets Barry cling to the back of his shirt as his heart rate slows enough for the watch to remain a quiet yellow.

“Why are you here, Lise?” asks Len tiredly.

Lisa looks offended. “I’m not allowed to see my big brother?”

“Not when I specifically told you to stay clear for a while.”

“A while,” Lisa repeats, rolling her eyes. She props herself against the kitchen island. “I could understand if I was just one of the rogues, but I’m your sister first. And you didn’t answer my question.”

Len stares at her, but she only stares back. They could very well do this forever, but Lisa cracks quickly in favor of peering at Barry instead. Len steps forward warningly.

A slow smile stretches across her face as she shrugs and turns to examine the kitchen. She stops by the massive pile of cookies before taking one and sniffing it before deeming it safe to eat.

“Well,” she starts, once she’s finished chewing, “I’m assuming he’s your little friend from that unfortunate night?”

Len almost winces when he remembers the whole car debacle. It’s pointless to lie now, he knows. “What of it?”

Lisa snorts, though she’s still studying Barry. “You know, those lips look awfully familiar…”

Len tenses briefly before relaxing again. If Barry knows he’s anything other than calm, then he will only follow suit. “You said so yourself, sis. He’s a badge, yes, but he’s not a cop.”

“Barry Allen. Forensics specialist,” she says. She takes her cookie as she steps to the fridge and thoroughly invades his new purchases. “Rabbit food,” she sighs.

“You’re welcome to buy your own food instead of freeloading off of me,” Len offers. He doesn’t like how Barry’s wallet is still flopped open on the counter, so he goes to retrieve it.

“I just wanted to apologize,” says Lisa gently. She finishes her cookie and wipes the crumbs on the kitchen towel draped over the oven handle.

“For what, showing up unannounced?” Len supplies bitterly, his fingers tightening on the wallet.

“No,” says Lisa, turning towards him. Her arm inches slowly behind her. “For this.”

Len only hears the clink of the knife as it’s yanked from the wooden block before Lisa flings it towards Barry. He watches the knife in some kind of mock slow-motion, barely given any time to do anything other than tense up, but Barry’s faster than he is. Much, much faster.

When time resumes its normal pace, it’s quiet other than the thundering of Len’s heart and no one makes to move.

Barry’s holding the knife by the handle. It’s barely an inch away from his widened eyes.

Len feels utter dread wash over him, dousing him in freezing cold before anger hits him like a tidal wave. It wells up inside him, lighting him on fire. He snarls at his sister, an animalistic noise that rips out of him. “ _What the hell, Lise?_ ”

Lisa looks unperturbed. “Huh.” Her eyes are still on Barry. “Nice to see you again, _Flash_.”

The knife clatters to the coffee table as it’s released from Barry’s shaking hands. Len nearly trips on his haste to grab Barry, squeezing maybe a little too hard as his eyes rake over his body to check for injuries.

“I-I’m fine, Len,” Barry murmurs, but he’s shaking when Len maneuvers him to sit on the couch.

Len whips his head back towards his sister to glare at her. “Don’t you _ever_ ,” growls Len through his teeth, “do that _again_. Do you hear me?”

Lisa waves him off, which only infuriates him further. “Relax, Lenny. I knew he would catch it.”

“And if he didn’t?” he asks incredulously.

“Well,” Lisa says, tipping her head, “then we would have a body to bury, wouldn’t we?”

A small noise slips out of Barry’s lips, and Len has to work very hard to control his breathing.

“Oh, relax, Flash. I’m not going to hurt you,” she says, grabbing another cookie. “Lenny _is_ quite infatuated with you, and I don’t have a death wish.”

Len grits his teeth. “You’re saying this after you had just thrown a knife at my—at Barry.”

“A girl’s gotta have her fun, too, Lenny,” Lisa says innocently. “Besides, I wanted to see who had you all head over heels.”

“You don’t understand the situation,” says Len. “It’s not what it looks like.”

Lisa raises an unimpressed brow. “Right.” She turns her eyes to Barry. “Cat got your tongue, cutie?”

“You can’t tell anyone,” says Barry, before Len can stop him. Barry looks defiant in a way that Len hasn’t seen in a while. Len would almost be fooled into thinking he’s calm and collected, if not for the yellow screen of the watch.

“Tell anyone what? That the Flash is a lab geek for the CCPD and makes a mean chocolate chip cookie?” she offers innocently. “So you and Lenny like to do the do at night. Big deal.” Her eyes flicker to the front of Barry’s pants. “Big deal?” she asks Len innocently.

With that, all the energy just seems to drain out of Len. He collapses on the couch beside Barry, his head lolling against the backrest. “I don’t have time for this,” he groans to the ceiling.

“It’s okay,” says Barry, of all people. He takes Len’s hand and squeezes gently. The touch is more for Len’s sake than Barry’s, and it’s with that realization that his gut twists uncomfortably. He doesn’t yank his hand away, however, no matter how smug Lisa looks across the room.

It’s quiet for a moment longer as Lisa finishes off another cookie before she retrieves the milk from the fridge and drinks straight from the carton.

“You’re buying me another one,” says Len.

“We have the same DNA,” she says, wiping at her lip. She stares at them together on the couch, looking incredibly pensive.

“What?” he asks, even though he doesn’t really want to know what’s going through her head.

“You know this is only going to end badly,” says Lisa. She’s using her serious voice, the one she uses only for situations like these, the one she had used when she explained the extent of Mick’s injuries all those years ago. “I won’t tell anyone, Lenny, but I’m sure you’ve thought about this. What this means if this continues.”

“You don’t understand,” says Len again.

“Then _tell_ me something useful.”

“There’s a meta human on the run,” Barry answers instead. “Her powers… We don’t know the full extent yet, but she attacked us a few nights ago.”

“What did she do to you?” Lisa asks curiously, her eyes flickering up and down his body.

“That, you don’t need to know,” Len interjects before Barry can reply. “All _you_ need to know is that he saved me, and I owe him one.”

Lisa raises a brow. “Oh, is that all? You just _owe him one_?” Her voice drops to mock him, but it only sounds like she has a chest cold.

“Yes, that’s—”

“Look at this place, Lenny! There are cookies in your kitchen. You never have cookies.”

“That doesn’t—”

“And you have his clothes all over your apartment! You’d ice us before you let Mick or me leave so much as an eyelash on your floor.”

“Well, he’s _messy_ —”

“And you guys are practically cuddling right now,” she accuses, pointing a perfectly manicured finger. Len looks down at himself, where, coincidentally, Barry is tucked into his side with a hand on his. He hadn’t even realized they had drifted together.

“I—” Christ, when did it get so _hot_ in here? Len tugs at his collar for a little bit of relief, though he doesn’t make any effort to scoot down the couch. “Just drop it, Lise.”

“You both are idiots,” she says in exasperation. She drops onto the kitchen stool with her arms crossed, her mouth twisted in annoyance.

It’s quiet for a long time. The thing about Len and his sister is that they’re both headstrong and stubborn as hell, so arguments can very well last to the grave if Len wasn’t the bigger man. It’s something of a nuisance when it happens, though it hardly affects their work since Len always ends up caving first to stop his little sister from tormenting him with her emotions. He’s a grown ass man and he’s still swayed by the sight of tears, faked or not.

Barry peels himself away from Len to stand suddenly, and makes his way across the kitchen. Lisa’s head snaps up from where she’s been glaring at the floor to eye Barry curiously.

Surprisingly, Barry offers her his hand. “Barry Allen. Nice to meet you.”

Lisa stares at Barry for a moment in disbelief before she blinks at him. A smile spreads across her lips as she takes his hand. “Lisa Snart.” She shoots Len a look that he doesn’t like at all, mostly because that’s her _I’m winning_ face. He drops his eyes to their still-clasped hands and rolls his eyes.

“Get your hand off him,” mutters Len.

“I think,” begins Lisa innocently, “we’re going to be _great_ friends, Barry.” She jumps off the stool and onto her feet before pulling Barry into a fierce hug that’s more of a vertical cuddle than anything else. Barry looks shocked for a moment, his hands frozen, before he rests them in a safe position on her upper back.

Len growls quietly. “All right, that’s enough,” he says curtly when she starts to sway playfully. He’s about a second away from ripping them apart himself, but Barry politely extracts himself with a gentle pat on her back.

“Barry, do you mind giving us a few moments alone?” Lisa asks gently, but Barry doesn’t budge.

“How about you bake Lisa those brownies you were telling me about earlier?” Len offers instead. Barry nods, looking relieved, and gets started while Lisa folds herself onto the couch. “Don’t ask,” he murmurs.

“You know, the rogues are getting restless. Especially Mardon,” she says, her voice quiet. Her eyes flicker to Barry, but Len knows he can’t hear from the pots and pans clanking about. “Is the heist still on?”

“Of course it’s still on,” says Len. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Figured you must’ve had a… change of heart.” She looks pointedly at Barry before back to Len.

“It’s not like that. His team’s already working on it,” he insists.

Lisa gets that teasing grin she always has whenever Cisco comes to the topic. “You think my little scientist needs some input?”

“You’ll break him,” snorts Len.

Lisa fiddles with a stray strand of the couch cushion. “What happens when things get back to normal?”

Len sighs, the dread returning as cold behind his neck. “I don’t know,” he admits. “We go back to being enemies, I suppose.”

“You don’t want that.” It isn’t a question.

As if on cue, his phone beeps with a text. He almost doesn’t want to read it, but he does anyway. It’s Cisco, of course telling him they’re in the final stages of making his watch, and it should be ready by tomorrow. Assuming it works, it’ll allow Len to put some more space between them. Though, the real question is whether or not he even wants to.

“It doesn’t matter what I want,” says Len finally. His eyes fall onto Barry again, watching as he measures flour in a way that only a scientist would in a lab—not that Len has ever seen Barry at work before. It isn’t like he can just walk into the CCPD to visit Barry, maybe bring him lunch or surprise him with coffee or…

Lisa’s looking at him with some kind of pity in her eyes, masked quickly when Len growls under his breath. “It does matter,” says Lisa, knocking her knee against his.

“The heist is still on,” says Len, mostly to change the subject. He can handle the occasional glares and the rolling of the eyes, but pity? No thanks. “I’ll plan a meeting soon so we can discuss it in depth.”

Lisa sighs. She pats him on the knee before rising from her seat. She hesitates slightly, seeming to find the right words to use. “You know we’ll support you no matter what,” she says before leaving Len to join Barry. “Need any help, Barry?” she peeps.

Len merely sits there and watches as Barry instructs her through the mixing process. He feels sluggish, tired mostly, yet his mind is racing with so many thoughts it’s a wonder his skull isn’t cracking. So he sits, watching Barry and his sister bake like it’s nothing out of the ordinary, and when Barry offers him a bite a while later, he tries not to think about how warm he feels inside.

x

Lisa leaves when the sun goes down and they’ve played enough rounds of Monopoly that Len _knows_ Barry is a dirty cheater, no matter how innocently he bats his eyelashes. Len had hugged his sister goodbye and rolled his eyes when Lisa had insisted on pecking Barry on his cheek, leaving behind a pink smudge that Len immediately wipes off once she’s out the door.

Ever since Lisa had pointed it out to him, he has been noticing that his apartment was, in fact, a mess. There are tiny, green plastic houses all over the carpet that had been used alternatively by Lisa and Barry to pelt Len with. There are sweaters strewn over the couch and over all the chairs, sneakers with their halves on opposite ends of the room, open movie cases with the DVDs in a pile on top of the TV, not to mention the amount of _flour_ dusting his entire kitchen. Len’s left eye twitches.

“That’s it,” says Len. “We’re cleaning.”

Barry doesn’t even try to fight it, and at least has the decency to look sheepish as he starts to collect his scattered wardrobe. Len focuses mostly on the kitchen, if only because he can steal pieces of brownie as he cleans.

“I like your sister,” Barry says as he reunites his shoes. “You know, when she’s not trying to severely injure me and/or ruin my superhero plans.”

“Yeah, she’s all right.” Len takes a wet cloth to start wiping down his cabinets. How Barry managed to get flour on a cabinet taller than him, Len doesn’t know. He has to stand on the tips of his toes to reach the patch of white, which is embarrassing enough without his sweater riding up. Once he’s satisfied, he fixes his sweater and wrings out the rag.

Len turns to Barry, who’s been suspiciously quiet, and finds him focusing very intently on putting each DVD back in its respective case. Before Len can ask, he spies something from the corner of his eye, out past the clear doors of the balcony.

“Len?” Barry calls after him when he hears the door slide open, but Len doesn’t reply. He grips the railing as he peers down, squinting at the smoke billowing from behind one of the buildings. Distantly, there are people screaming in fear and Len can make out the barest hint of sirens on the other side of town.

“There’s a fire,” Len whispers, and Barry only hears him because he’d immediately flashed right to his side at the first scream. He grips Barry’s arm, forcing Barry’s wide eyes to his own. “Barry, _fire!_ ”

Barry sputters, but doesn’t move.

Len whips his head back to the building, where he can now see actual flames dancing alongside the structure. “ _Barry!_ ” He shakes Barry once, hard, and that seems to snap the other man out of his daze.

“I—Len, I—” Barry shakes his head furiously, panic written clear on his face.

“You have to help, Barry.” He glances again at the firetrucks _too_ far away.

“I-I can’t _leave_ you here, Len,” Barry tries to plead with him. He’s still trembling despite the way his hands are clutching desperately at Len’s shirt front. “What if you get hurt?”

“I’m not—”

“What if you leave?” he blurts out. He looks pained, like he doesn’t want to hear the answer but needs to.

It’s useless to try to pry Barry’s hands off his shirt, so he grabs Barry’s arms instead. “I’m not going anywhere,” he declares. He looks deep within Barry’s eyes, trying to will him to believe it. “I’ll be here when you get back, I promise. The city—our city—needs the Flash. They need _you_.”

“Len—” Barry tries, but he’s cut off by Len’s lips. It’s hard and desperate and not even remotely dirty—just the pressure of their lips together—but it’s enough for Barry’s hands to slacken against his shirt.

“Go,” says Len once he’s pulled away, giving one last squeeze. Barry gapes at him for a long second before his jaw sets determinedly. He’s gone in a streak of red and a gust of wind, down the long line of their building. Len only realizes then that Barry doesn’t have the Flash suit, and he’s running into a _burning building_ in a freakin’ cotton t-shirt. Len’s hands tighten on the railing as he watches the blur reach the scene, watches as he darts in and out of the crumbling building.

A part of the top floor crackles and collapses within itself, and Len prays that Barry knows what he’s doing. The firetrucks finally reach the building and it’s only a matter of minutes before there are multiple streams of water blasting into the flames. All Len can do is wait.

It’s taking too long, so long that Len is about a second away from aiming his cold gun and hoping for the best, but he’s snapped back to reality by the blur shooting back up his street.

Between his current blink and the next, he’s got an armful of Barry that knocks him back a few steps. He grunts, taking Barry’s weight as the man coughs violently, his chest heaving. The smell of smoke is strong when Len sucks in a relieved breath.

“You’re still here,” croaks Barry once he can breathe. His arms tighten around Len as he buries his face in Len’s throat. “You’re still here.”

It takes a long time for Barry’s breathing to return to normal, and an even longer time for Barry to loosen his hold. Eventually, he releases Len enough so he can examine him.

“Are you okay?” Len asks, which is stupid because he can see the singe marks in Barry’s shirt and the soot on his cheeks.

“Yeah,” says Barry anyway, ever the hero. Len pulls him into the living room again only to steer them both into the bathroom. Barry takes a seat on the closed toilet lid as Len rummages through the drawers for a washcloth and burn ointment. He nearly drops them when Barry releases a noise of pain.

“What’s wrong?” Len demands, his hands flitting all over Barry’s torso to find any open wounds. The skin underneath the burn holes are incredibly red.

“I loved this shirt,” Barry mutters solemnly. Len sighs.

“I’ll buy you a new one,” says Len, helping him out of the tattered thing. He wets the rag with warm water and takes great care in wiping the soot from Barry’s face and torso. He does this as gently as he can, but still manages to make Barry wince on the more sensitive areas. “Sorry,” Len mutters.

“I’ll heal,” Barry murmurs. He’s still watching Len, a little more intensely than Len would like, but Len has more important things to focus on, like putting the ointment on his reddened skin. A flare of pride shoots inside him every time Barry releases a content sigh and relaxes further and further underneath Len’s careful fingers.

Len only leaves briefly to grab Barry a glass of water before holding it to his mouth.

“My hands still work,” says Barry in amusement as he holds the glass himself. He downs it in about five seconds flat.

“Yeah, well,” Len replies, because he has nothing better to say. He ushers Barry into the master bedroom before digging through his closet to retrieve one of his shirts. It’s just an old band t-shirt, soft from many years of ownership and devoid of any knife holes. When he turns back to Barry, he frowns at the grim expression taking precedence on the other man’s face.

“The whole time,” Barry begins quietly from his seat on Len’s bed, “I couldn’t stop thinking about you.” He lets Len pull the shirt over him, carefully maneuvering his arms through the shirt holes. “I-I couldn’t focus. I almost lost someone. A little girl.”

 “You saved them, Barry,” Len reminds him gently. “You saved them all.”

Barry shakes his head, his teeth digging into his bottom lip. He collapses against Len’s pillow. His voice is just a tremor from breaking when he speaks again. “I can’t be the Flash like this, Len.” His voice breaks anyway. “I can’t do it. I can’t…”

“Barry, you can. You are.” Len touches Barry’s arm gently. “You’re a hero. You always will be. No matter what.”

Barry stares up blankly at the ceiling. The only indication that he’s listening is the slight twitch of his fingers.

“Cisco’s watch is almost done,” Len continues. He rests his chin on his propped up hand, watching the even rise and fall of Barry’s chest. “It’ll help, until we can catch the meta to reverse the spell. It’ll be okay, Barry. I promise.” It’s not much, but it’s all Len can offer him.

“I love you,” murmurs Barry. He doesn’t look at Len when he says this, which Len is eternally grateful for because Len doesn’t think he can control himself right now.

Len stands to pull a light blanket over the man’s legs. “Get some rest, Barry.” He thinks about taking the couch tonight, or maybe even Barry’s own bed, but for some reason he can’t bring himself to leave.

His hesitation at the foot of the bed lasts a few long moments before he slowly climbs in to lay beside the other man. It takes him until he’s comfortable to look at Barry. He’s expecting to find the man watching him, but Barry’s in the same position as before, though his lips are tilted in a small smile.

Len nudges Barry lightly with an elbow and leaves their arms touching. “Do you need anything?” he asks softly, like if he speaks any louder it’ll break the both of them.

“Just this,” whispers Barry, his eyes falling shut.


	6. Chapter 6

When Len blinks awake, there some key things that fly through his sleep-muddled mind in the span of four seconds.

First, the light is bright enough to scorch his poor corneas, so he shuts his eyes almost immediately. Then there’s the feeling of the warmest, albeit heaviest, blanket he’s ever felt in his life, along with a pleasing scent that he can’t place. His left arm is numb and his toes are freezing, yet his body is warm, and something is snuffling just below his chin, tickling Len slightly.

That being said, those four seconds are just about how long he remains in peace and contentment before his entire body goes rigid. His limbs draw together so he’s one long, tense line, and his blanket groans unhappily at the movement.

Len squints down at himself in alarm, blinking at the soft mess of hair resting against his chest.

“B’rry?” he slurs, because his mouth isn’t properly receiving the signals from his brain quite yet. He frees his numbed hand from under Barry to try to shake him awake, but he doesn’t know where to touch, so Len’s hand just falls lamely back to the mattress.

Len’s eyes flicker frantically around the room for something he isn’t quite sure of—maybe for any sign of a vengeful step-father intent on preserving Barry’s purity or something. They aren’t even _doing_ anything. They’re cuddling. Len’s going to get shot for cuddling.

Even when Len decides that they are very much alone, that information does nothing to relax him. He’s staring up at the ceiling, body ramrod straight while Barry’s sprawled out over him like a starfish, trapping him like a human net. Now, Len is hyperaware of every single point their bodies are touching, which happens to be lot: the hot puff of Barry’s breath against his neck, their legs sprawled together, the elbow resting at a gentle angle on his chest, the hand lightly clutching his shirt. He doesn’t really want to think about the way their hips are pressing together. He doesn’t.

Len angles his head to peer at Barry’s face, and he’s relieved to see that the burns have healed and faded away. The length of the man’s eyelashes is actually sort of ridiculous, the way it fans out over his cheekbones, and those pink lips, slightly pouted as if the man can’t go a second without giving Len that puppy dog look, even in slumber. Len’s hand raises again, just to touch the soft strands barely brushing against his own cheek, but decides to nose softly into them instead. He inhales gently, smelling ash and smoke from the night before, but underneath is the pure scent of _Barry._ Len finally begins to relax, letting the tension in his body melt away into the mattress.

Barry releases a low, pleased hum before butting his cheek against Len’s chest, much like he’s beating a pillow into softness. It’s only then Len realizes Barry’s still half-asleep, because in the next second Barry stiffens, like he’s just now realizing he isn’t on a pillow.

“Nnnuhh?” breathes Barry. He props his chin on Len’s chest, blinking sleepily up at him before his eyes bug out in horror. Len almost wants to laugh at how similar both their reactions are, but doesn’t get the chance to.

Barry starts to scramble off the bed, punching very manly—and not at all squeaky—sounds out of Len in the process before Barry’s flailing arms are captured.

“S’fine,” Len insists groggily. He releases Barry when he’s sure his eyes are safe from gouging. “S’okay.”

With every blink, they both begin to finally wake to full, coherent consciousness. Barry gazes up at Len with a stricken expression, still sprawled over Len’s chest, but tense.

“Sorry, I didn’t ask—” Barry starts to babble, but Len hastily shakes his head.

“It’s fine, Barry,” Len says. He gestures vaguely at the blankets kicked off the bed. “We were sleeping. It was cold.”

Barry stares at Len nervously, but Len is intent on not making this anymore awkward than it has to be, so he drops his head back onto his pillow and relaxes once more. He feels Barry shift uneasily on his chest, still perched up on his elbows, before he drops his chin into his folded hands.

“It’s still cold,” says Barry hesitantly.

Len blinks down at him, his lips twitching slightly. “It would be wrong to disagree.”

“Can we… Can we stay in bed for a little longer?” Barry asks. He briefly glances down at their bodies pressed together. “Like this?”

Len pretends to ponder this over for a moment, watching Barry’s hopeful expression bloom. “We can’t fall back asleep. We have to go to S.T.A.R. Labs, remember?”

“Just a little longer,” promises Barry.

Len hums lightly. He glances at the clock; it’s only eight in the morning, and Cisco won’t be expecting them until ten. “Okay,” says Len finally.

Barry grins before ducking under Len’s chin and sprawling out in the same position he’d woken up in. Len sighs in contentment, eyes falling shut. He focuses on the steady rise-and-fall of their chests against each other, trying to stay awake, but mostly failing. It doesn’t help that Barry’s thumb is slowly stroking across Len’s bicep. He can feel the exact moment Barry falls asleep again, and Len would roll his eyes if he wasn’t in danger of slipping from consciousness himself. Still, it’s Barry’s fault because he’s so warm, and soft, and… and…

 

Len’s eyes flutter open. The light isn’t as harsh as it was before, and the weight on his chest is comforting. He doesn’t want to check for the time, but when he does, he groans when he sees it’s nearly nine-thirty.

“Barry, wake up,” croaks Len. His voice sounds loud in the quiet room. When he doesn’t get a response, he pats at Barry’s back. “Barry.”

Barry makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like sucking in drool. “Nnnn… s’ warm,” he mumbles into Len’s shirt.

“We need to get up,” says Len, already turning to get up. He makes it about an inch off the mattress before Barry wraps his arms around him like an octopus.

“Wanna stay here forever,” whines Barry, and as enticing as that sounds, Len has to be the responsible one here.

“You really think you can hold on that long?” asks Len, snorting.

“I can try,” he thinks he hears Barry mutter stubbornly.

Len rolls his eyes, even if Barry can’t see it. “Suit yourself,” Len says, and that’s all the warning he gives Barry before he hoists them both out of bed.

Barry yelps in surprise as he flails a bit, his arms tightening around Len’s neck while his legs wrap around his waist. Forget octopus, Barry’s like a giant koala bear.

“Len!” cries Barry as he tightens his hold around him.

Len yawns deeply. “You can let go anytime you want, Barry,” he says, making his way to the kitchen. Barry, however, doesn’t let go.

Len manages to start a pot of coffee, despite the human barnacle attached to him, before he heads to the bathroom.

“You’re so warm,” Barry murmurs as Len turns the shower on to let it heat up.

Brushing his teeth is a bit awkward due to the angle of Barry’s arm, but he manages. Barry doesn’t even stir, and Len is mildly impressed with Barry’s strength, though not surprised. He cradles Barry’s back as he dips down to spit out the toothpaste before cleaning his brush off and returning it to its cup.

The steam fills the bathroom quickly, signaling Len that it’s ready, and he’s grateful because his back is starting to twinge.

“All right, Barry,” says Len, turning towards to door to give Barry space to climb off. Barry still doesn’t budge. If anything, he nuzzles in deeper. If they didn’t have to be somewhere in less than thirty minutes, Len would have gladly humored Barry, but that isn’t the case. “Come on,” says Len. He rolls his eyes and playfully smacks Barry’s ass as he says, “Off.”

Barry jolts up, his arms and legs tightening around Len for a beat as he outright _moans_.

Right in Len’s ear.

Possibly the filthiest thing Len has ever heard in his _life_.

Despite the fact that the room is now dead silent, save for the spattering of the shower, Len can still hear that _sound_ like his mind is a skipping record, repeating it over and over again until all he can hear, all he can think about, is how breathy Barry had sounded, and how it had tapered off into a whimper just from light force…

The silence stretches on for what feels like hours before Barry releases him enough to slide down, and all right, that _definitely_ wasn’t hard before—

Barry’s face is flushed, eyes looking everywhere but Len before he stammers, “I’ll just—I, um, outside? I mean, of course I’m not gonna… I’ll…” He gestures lamely out the bathroom before he’s gone in a blur.

Len stands there for a few moments before he shuts the door gently, his face blank. He slides open the shower curtain, staring at the steam before he yanks the lever so it’s all the way on cold. His clothes are practically ripped off before he jumps into the shower.

The cold water hits him like a rude awakening, but he still feels too hot; everything feels too hot.

Fungus.

Toe fungus.

Mick’s toe fungus.

God, the man has access to priceless artifacts and gems, and he still can’t be bothered to buy another pair of boots. Or socks. Christ, how often does Mick do laundry? Does he even _do_ laundry? Does he just leave it all in a dirty pile that he’d rather burn to ashes than wash? Or does he just wear them again regardless? Days and days of dirt and grime collecting in the threads. That… is disgusting. He’d have to ask Mick later. And thank him.

Len slumps against the shower wall and only barely stops himself from banging his head against it, repeatedly.

Thankfully, he finishes his shower without braining himself on porcelain, and exits the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist and his dirty clothes bunched into a ball. He finds Barry on the couch, legs crossed, staring blankly at the TV.

Len clears this throat. “Shower’s free,” he tries to say casually. Barry straightens up, his eyes trailing down Len’s body to rest on the towel. “Barry?”

“Right,” says Barry, suddenly fascinated with his own fingernails. “I’ll, um, do that.”

He zips past Len and closes the bathroom door. Len stares at the couch for a moment before making his way to his closet, nearly plowing right into the open drawer of his dresser.

Len isn’t distracted, all right? He’s not a hormone-driven teenager anymore—he’s a strong-willed man perfectly capable of dressing himself without drowning in thoughts and fantasies of another man in his shower. Using his soap. Lathering himself up.

Barry’s just—he’s just taking a shower, damn it. And touching himself. Not inappropriately. But maybe inappropriately. Who is Len to judge? It’s a perfectly natural thing to do. Natural.

Len isn’t thinking about it. No, he’s focusing very intently on pulling clothes onto himself because he has to at least look composed and collected in front of team Flash. Anything less is likely to be used as blackmail. He can’t have that.

Len shoves his drawers shut before smoothing a hand down his outfit in triumph. Like he said: strong-willed.

It isn’t until he reaches the kitchen that he realizes his shirt is backwards and he’s wearing two different kinds of socks.

x

Len drives them to S.T.A.R. Labs because Barry still looks too mortified from the Great Shower Debacle to flash them there. Len had even apologized for smacking him, but Barry just buried his face in his hands and pleaded for Len to kindly shut up, shut up, shut up, and to forget any of it ever happened. But that’s easier said than done.

“God, what happened to you?” peeps an all-too familiar voice before Len even has a foot out of the car.

“Lisa,” says Len before slamming his door shut behind him. He narrows his eyes at his sister leaning against her motorcycle. “What are you doing here?”

Lisa sighs. “I’m getting tired of answering that question.”

“I’m getting tired of asking it,” Len retorts. He folds his arms across his chest as Barry shuffles to his side.

“Hi, Lisa,” says Barry, his hands crammed into his pockets.

“’lo, cutie.” Lisa winks at him before turning back to Len. “Thought we could turn this into a party. Maybe a double date.”

“You’re not needed,” Len scoffs.

“What’s got you all grumpy?” Lisa asks, her eyebrow raising. When Len doesn’t answer, she looks to Barry, who only blushes furiously. “Oh, so you’re in a _drought_ ,” says Lisa, tapping her head in understanding.

“I’m not going to dignify that with a response,” Len growls. He stomps forward and past Lisa, heading for the entrance.

“I’m only kidding, Lenny, sheesh,” says Lisa, and when Len turns to glare at her, he finds her arms slung around Barry’s shoulder. She whispers something into Barry’s ear then, causing him to turn an even brighter shade of red.

“Stop torturing him,” Len barks at her, but she only tugs Barry closer with a wicked grin. “If you’re coming inside, I’m not responsible if they attack you. And don’t touch anything.”

They make it inside without a hitch—Len really needs to talk to Cisco about upgrading their security system from the trash they currently have—and are striding down the long corridor until it opens up to the familiar cortex.

Dr. Snow is sitting at the curved desk, typing away on the computer before she looks up.

“Two Snarts? Really, Barry?” chastises Dr. Snow, but she doesn’t look too angry, just tired. “So she knows who Barry is. What does she know about the meta?”

“Not everything,” says Len, pleased when his sister huffs, indignant.

“Good,” says Dr. Snow. She gives Lisa a withering look, answered by a smirk, before turning back to the monitors. Cisco enters the room cradling something in his hands.

“Hey, Barry. Hey, Len,” he says without looking up. He plops down into his chair to tinker with the small device in his hands, making a satisfied noise before he finally looks up. His eyes bug out immediately when they land on Lisa.

“Hi, Cisco,” Lisa nearly sings, her eyelashes fluttering. Cisco releases an undignified squawk before falling out of his chair. Lisa releases Barry in favor of sauntering over to help Cisco up, but Cisco only stares at the proffered hand like it’s something alien.

“What’s she doing here?” Cisco gapes, looking to Len for an explanation. “Can she be trusted?”

“She’s my sister,” Len says. Lisa grins proudly until Len continues with, “Of course not.”

“Lenny!”

“But in this moment, yes,” Len finishes, tipping his head at her.

“I can be good,” she tells Cisco alluringly. Cisco scrambles to his feet and backs up into his desk.  

“Leave him alone, Lise,” sighs Len. He feels Barry sidle up next to him, just a comforting presence despite their morning.

“So bossy,” Lisa gripes, but she pulls herself up to sit on top of Cisco’s desk.

“You’re sitting on my—” Cisco breaks off when he sees Lisa tip her head enticingly. “Forget it. Um. Let’s get started, yeah?”

“We just have to make sure it’s working properly and syncing correctly,” Dr. Snow explains as she types away on her computer.

“Arm, please,” says Cisco, holding out a hand. He has watch in his other hand, black all around with a glossy screen big enough to be efficient, but small enough to be discreet.

Lisa looks like she wants to ask all sorts of questions, but thankfully, she keeps silent as she watches.

Len looks at Cisco warily before rolling up his left sleeve to offer his wrist. “Like we discussed, right?”

“Yep,” says Cisco, fastening the watch around him. “It’s similar to Barry’s, but your watch only shows your vitals.” He taps the screen, showing Len the small chart with three different colored lines moving steadily. Cisco points to each one separately, indicating, “Cardiac, neural, and thermal vitals.” Cisco taps the screen once more. “And here’s Barry’s.”

Len blinks. “This is…” He takes in the similar chart with the addition of the steady pulse displayed on his screen with **BARRY** at the top. “This is good work, Cisco,” he says honestly.

“Cisco’s the best,” says Barry proudly. He’s staring at his own watch with a look of wonder, looking at the small display of Len’s health status like it’s the answer to all of life’s questions. “The best,” he repeats in awe.

Cisco looks incredibly smug as he puffs on his nails and buffs them against his shirt. “I know,” he replies, shrugging nonchalantly. “Now we get to test its range.”

“The worst,” says Barry almost immediately, and Cisco snorts before clasping him on the back.

“You’ll be fine, Barry,” Cisco assures him.

Dr. Snow nods encouragingly. “You’ve got everything you need on your watch. Okay?”

Barry looks at Len for help, but Len only shrugs helplessly. He knows better than to get between two determined scientists.

“Okay,” Barry relents in a sigh. “What do I have to do?”

Cisco leads him to a chair. “Just sit tight. Len and I are going for a walk.”

“O-okay,” Barry murmurs, unsure.

Cisco motions to the exit with his chin and Len follows quietly. He feels the watch buzz with a low vibration, and glances at it to see Barry’s heartbeat picking up. When he spares a look behind him, he sees Barry pouting at him, but the man remains in his seat.

They disappear from the cortex and into the hall. Len keeps glancing behind him, expecting Barry to come barreling into him any second now, but there’s no sign of him.

“Watch?” Cisco prompts. Len holds up his wrist so they can both look. Cisco sighs in relief. “Awesome. Just a little distress, but overall, he’s fine.”

Len nods, staring at the pulsing line. “What about if I’m away for an extended period of time?”

They’re still walking down the long hallway, but slower now.

Cisco scratches the back of his neck. “That knowledge comes with countless tests, something we don’t have the luxury of. So we’re going to have to play this by ear. Hopefully, we can get you two separated soon.”

“Yeah,” says Len numbly. “Hopefully.”

Cisco turns to give him a strange look at that. He opens his mouth to say something, but it’s cut off by a thin screeching, like something cutting through the air.

“Watch out!” Len barks, grabbing at the man’s shirt to haul him back. Cisco yelps as the projectile whizzes past his ear and into the wall, and they both collapse onto the ground. Len scrambles to get up and push himself in front of Cisco, his cold gun out and ready.

“Oh, _so_ not cool!” Cisco cries, and when Len gets a glimpse behind him, he finds Cisco petting at a missing chunk of hair. He would laugh if their lives weren’t currently in danger.

“Come on out!” Len shouts, aiming down the dark hallway, and he’s answered by the echoing laughter of the meta. His jaw clenches and he fires a warning shot, only to be met by another arrow zipping past his cheek.

Cisco clambers to his feet to pat along the wall before finding a hidden panel. The alarms blare, screeching loud in his ear. In the back of his mind, he feels his watch pulse frantically, but he stays focused on the threat ahead of him.

“Back to the cortex!” barks Len. He grabs Cisco’s collar when he doesn’t move fast enough, and shoves him back while keeping his gun trained in the direction of the meta. They barely make it ten feet before Barry’s careening into Len’s back, and he would’ve toppled right over had Barry not grabbed his waist.

“Back, go back!” Len pushes back without taking his eyes away from ahead of him. They make it into the cortex, where Lisa has her gun out and Dr. Snow is already scrambling away on the computer. The metal door separating the cortex and the hall is starting to close, painstakingly slow.

“Len,” he finally hears Barry saying, and he must have been saying it for a while because the man looks wrecked when Len looks at him.

“Bar—” he starts to say, but he cuts off when the doors grind to a stop. “What’s going on?”

“The meta—she must’ve gotten to our power generators,” gasps Dr. Snow. She spins in her chair to frantically type at another computer, but shrieks when an arrow lodges itself into the monitor.

There’s about two seconds of calm before the entire cortex erupts with chaos. 

Four, five, six arrows shoot through the open door, and Len finds himself flat on his back with Barry covering him protectively.

“Barry!” he gasps, straining against him as the lights are knocked out and glass shatters to the floor. “Your team! Get them out of here!”

“You—”

“ _Look out!”_ He shoves Barry off in order to tumble into Dr. Snow, knocking her to the floor as they narrowly miss an arrow to the head. The florescent lights above them shatter with another round of arrows, and Len has just enough time to duck over Snow’s body to take the brunt of the damage. When he pulls back, he finds Snow looking up at him with wide eyes underneath him.

“Wings,” he hears Cisco gasp. “She has wings. _For real?_ ”

When Len squints back up, he finds Lisa taking turns blasting her gold gun and ducking behind a tattered desk. Barry looks stunned in all the chaos, flitting around the cortex to pull everyone out the line of fire when it changes.

The meta human—who Len sees now has a pair of honest to god wings flapping hard enough to keep her body in the air—smirks back at them with red-stained lips as she notches three arrows in her bow. Len quickly rolls of Snow to prop her safely against the desk while he crawls to his sister, avoiding the next rounds of arrows.

“Miss me?” the meta croons, her dark hair whipping around her face. Len huffs in annoyance and sends a shot of cold that hits the ceiling tile, freezing over the gold already plastered there.

“Stupid Cupid,” Cisco mutters, and his eyes light up like he’s just thought of the formula for time travel.

“ _No_ , Cisco,” groans Dr. Snow from behind the desk.

“Barry!” Len grits out. He aims at the quiver slung across her back, but only gets the tip of her bow. “Get your team out of here!”

Barry looks at him, wide-eyed and gaping from where he’s hovering over Cisco. “Are you crazy? I’m not going to let her skewer you alive!”

“I’ll be fine!” he yells back, and he sends another shot of cold that clips the meta in the wings. She screams angrily, swooping down to try to get a better aim, but is stopped by a tablet to the head.

“That was mine, Lisa!” Cisco wails.

Len rests his gun against his shoulder as he finds Barry’s eyes. “Barry,” he shouts, “if you love me, you will get these two out of here! And stay away until I say otherwise!” He can’t risk Barry getting hurt. The best he can do for Barry now is to get him away and out of danger.

Barry looks torn, his eyes wide and pained. “But, Len—”

“ _NOW, Barry!_ ”

In a streak of red, team Flash is gone.

Len’s breath leaves him in a relieved huff. He turns back to his sister, catching her eye. “Like the Coleman heist,” says Len, and she nods at him. They count off before Len launches himself over the desk while Lisa springs to the side. The meta howls in fury, notching another arrow in her bow, aimed at Lisa, before Len sends a shot right between her shoulder blades. The meta shrieks in pain, her wings seizing up before she drops unceremoniously to the floor.

Len steps forward cautiously as Lisa mirrors him from the other side.

“Easy now,” says Len, keeping his eyes and gun trained on the meta. “No sudden movements or we’ll fire.” There are barely any functioning lights left, though Len can still make out how calm the meta looks, despite having two lethal weapons directed at her. “What are you doing here?” Len asks her.

The meta doesn’t answer.

Len tries again. “What do you want from S.T.A.R. Labs?”

The meta titters under her breath.

“I’m sorry,” Lisa says, sickeningly sweet. She grabs the meta’s collar and hauls her up a few inches from the ground. “What was that?”

“Lisa,” he says warningly, but the meta’s soft chuckles turn into full bodied laughter. Lisa lets her slump back to the floor in disgust.

“Huh,” the meta says with a grin. “I think we all want the same thing.”

Len narrows his eyes at her. “What exactly is that?”

“Come a little closer and find out,” she says airily. Suddenly, the meta goes still, her head whipping to something behind Lisa. Len knows better than to look, but Lisa doesn’t. White surrounds them as the meta’s wings unfurl to knock Lisa off her feet, and before Len can react, he finds himself on his back with the meta’s lips just inches away from his.

She digs her talon-like nails into Len’s sides, causing him to grit his teeth his pain before he grabs a hold of something, anything, and slams it into the side of her head.

She pitches off him with a howl of pain as Len makes for his gun, though the meta flees the cortex before he can even get his finger on the trigger.

Len pants heavily before he throws himself down beside his sister, checking her for injuries. There’s a small bump on the back of her head that has her hissing into consciousness when he presses against it.

“You scared the crap out of me,” he scolds her, helping her sit up. “Didn’t I always tell you not to fall for that?”

“So sue me,” Lisa snaps back weakly, rubbing her temple. She stares at Len’s gun before her eyes narrow. “Did she take something?”

Len feels his heart skip a beat. He holds up his gun and runs his fingers over the missing chunk of metal at the bottom of the grip. “Shit,” he sighs.

“Don’t tell me,” Lisa starts warily, “that you kept the heist plans in there…”

“It was a USB backup,” defends Len. Lisa groans, but it’s hopeless. It’s already gone. He'd only kept a spare because the paper plans were usually burned on the spot in case they were raided. It had saved their hides in the past.

Lisa studies the ruined room around them with a frown, picking absently at a chunk of drywall. “So Cupid, huh?” asks Lisa quietly. “That’s her power?”

Len looks away. “I told you it wasn’t what you thought.”

“If you really think the meta’s _that_ strong, Lenny, then you’re an idiot,” she says sharply. She cuffs him on the shoulder. “Have you seen the way Barry looks at you?”

Len has, actually, so he doesn’t see the point of that question. “Yeah, and?”

Lisa opens and closes her mouth a few times like she wants to say too many things at once, but settles on shaking her head like Len is a lost cause. “Where the hell did your boyfriend go?” she asks instead.

As if on cue, Barry comes bursting through the doors before Len can even get a word out. He’s a bit peeved Barry didn’t wait for Len to call, but the fact that he left at all is something that shouldn’t be looked over.

“Oh my god, oh my god,” Barry cries as Len gets to his feet. “Are you okay? Tell me you’re okay.” Barry’s practically vibrating with worry, his hands darting back and forth between them before he eventually settles for Len’s hands, even when Len tries to tug them away. “I was so worried. I was so—”

“I’m fine.”

“—worried, god, I can’t believe I left you. Is that a bruise? Is this a bruise? Is this _glass_ on you? I can’t believe she hurt you, I’m so—”

“Barry, I’m fine!” He shakes the rambling man off him.

“No, no, no, no,” Barry pleads, looking absolutely pained. “Please don’t push me away, not right now, please.”

Len sighs, rubbing at his face tiredly before he holds out his arm. Barry clings to it gratefully. He stops blubbering almost immediately, but still whimpers out his concerns until Len pulls him into a deeper embrace. Only then does Barry fall silent, snuffling quietly.

“I’m fine, Barry,” he murmurs into his hair.

Lisa’s staring at them from where she’d propped herself against the desk, her mouth hanging open before she grins smugly.

“Shut up, Lise,” he growls, pulling Barry tighter to his chest protectively.

Lisa holds her hands up in defense. “I didn’t say anything,” she says, but the gleam in her eyes says otherwise.

They regroup at S.T.A.R. Labs once Barry’s satisfied that Len is still in one piece, though he isn’t happy to see the cuts on his back from the glass, or the crescent shaped marks on his stomach from the meta’s nails. Barry goes to fish Cisco and Dr. Snow from wherever he had stored them while Len steps over the debris and glass littering the floor to reach the little medical room, thankfully mostly unscathed.

The damage is mostly reparable since the lights took most of the arrows; it looks worse than it actually is. The rest of the arrows are lodged in patterns of three all around the cortex. Cisco assures them that this is good, mostly because it gives them a chance to take a closer look at the arrows to see if there’s any residual “magic” or anything to help them figure out a cure. Cisco prattles off a list of theories (“Why didn’t the arrows disappear this time? Does she have, like, _special_ ones, or…”) as Dr. Snow tends Lisa’s wounds while Barry tends Len’s. There’s a moment when Cisco wonders aloud what the meta was even doing here, which has Len and Lisa exchanging glances, but he just concludes that other metas have done worse without motive.

The patching up isn’t new to Len, but he still winces when a significantly giant piece of glass is pulled out of him.

“Sorry,” Barry murmurs. “There’s a lot of glass…” He sounds guilty in a way that Len knows he shouldn’t. Even when Len looks over his shoulder to offer Barry a small smile, the other man just continues to remove the glass with great care and furrowed brows.

Len sighs and turns to Dr. Snow and Cisco. “You two all right?”

“We’re good,” says Cisco absently as he toys with his slightly cracked tablet.

Dr. Snow nods in agreement. “You’re the ones who took most of the beating.” She’s finished with Lisa by now, and has come around to help Barry finish applying the bandages.

When they’re all wrapped up and Barry has done everything but kiss the wounds better, Len carefully shrugs on a borrowed S.T.A.R. Labs sweater. He doesn’t miss the way Barry’s eyes round out as his cheeks flush, or the way his eyes keep roaming over the letters and then Len’s face in turn, like he can’t quite believe he’s seeing the two together.

“You know how to reach me if anything happens,” Len says. He nods at them in passing. “Cisco. Dr. Snow.”

“Caitlin,” Dr. Snow says suddenly, which makes Len’s footsteps falter. “Please, call me Caitlin.”

Len composes himself before nodding gently. “And Len to you.”

Dr. Sno— _Caitlin_ offers him a small smile. “Thank you, Len. We’ll contact you once we make progress.” She uses a pen to poke at a stray arrow with distaste. “I’m sure this will help speed things up.”

“Call if you need anything,” says Len, gathering Barry under his arm.

“Anything,” Lisa emphasizes for Cisco. She pecks him on the cheek as she passes, grinning devilishly when he jumps three inches in the air.

x

The second Len gets their apartment door open, Barry steers him straight to the couch and tasks Lisa with the responsibility of not letting Len move a single muscle.

“Barry, I’m fine,” Len calls after him when the man slips into the bedroom.

“Yeah, and it isn’t like I have a head injury or anything,” Lisa huffs, flipping her hair dramatically, “but I suppose Lenny’s paper cuts are far more important.”

“You have a tiny bump compared to your big head,” Len says, and he isn’t exactly proud of that retort, but hey, it’s been a rough morning.

“Oh, Lenny,” she starts, blinking innocently, “did you want to add a stab wound to your injuries?”

“Please don’t injure each other,” asks Barry once he’s emerged from his room. His voice is muffled from the mountain of blankets gathered in his arms. “Sorry, Lisa. Sit, please?”

“Since you asked so nicely.” She plops down on the opposite end of the couch and sends Len a smug look when Barry shrouds her in blankets first. Len holds in his scoff.

“Is this okay?” Barry asks her, glancing up as he tucks her in. “Not too warm?”

“This is good,” she says, snuggling into the couch. “Ah, but I think an ice pack for my poor head would make it better.”

“’Course,” says Barry, nodding earnestly.

Len shoots her a dirty look. “Lise…”

“What?” Lisa raises an eyebrow, daring Len to say anymore. Len only resists rolling his eyes in favor of reaching for the remote to turn the TV on. Barry returns from the freezer with an ice pack wrapped in a kitchen towel and presses it lightly against Lisa’s head. “You’re so sweet,” she says, pinching his cheeks. Barry swats her hand away halfheartedly, but he’s blushing.

Barry finally turns to Len, other blanket held in his hands, but he hesitates.

Len looks up at Barry, seeing a range of emotions flitter across his face.

“The watch works,” states Barry weakly, before Len can say anything. “It works. I… I just want to be close to you right now, if that’s okay?”

Lisa pretends to gag, but they don’t pay any mind to her.

Barry shifts on his feet nervously as Len stares at him. He wants to say it’s better than okay, but knows it will only deter their progress, make it harder to break apart later. After all, Barry has to go to work again sometime soon and Len has other duties to attend to, and they can’t do that if they resort back to day one.

But the watch works, so it doesn’t really matter now… does it?

“You two are ridiculous,” groans Lisa before Barry’s ungracefully pitching forward into Len’s lap, blanket and all. When Len’s done spatting out cotton, he shoots a glare at Lisa and finds her outstretched leg retreating back into the blanket.

Barry fumbles to right himself, but only manages to sit himself on Len’s lap, and—

Len breathes out deeply, relaxing into the couch at Barry’s comforting weight and warmth. He thinks he hears Lisa snorting, but Barry’s shy eyes have all of his attention.

“Is this…” Barry repositions himself so he’s sitting sideways instead of straddling his lap, probably to preserve any ounce of dignity they have left in front of Lisa. “Is this okay?”

Right now, Len isn’t thinking about the dull pain in his back, or the meta disappearing into the city, or the fact that Len’s a criminal and Barry’s the hero destined to take him down, because right now he’s just Len, and Barry’s just Barry.

Len snakes an arm between the armrest and Barry’s back to hold him closer. “Yes, this is okay,” he says, even though it’s more than okay.

It’s perfect.

That is, until Lisa peeps, “No funny business under the blanket, all right?” and Barry buries his burning face into Len’s neck, groaning his mortification.

But it’s playing a rerun of that holiday special he used to watch as a kid and Barry’s holding his hand with his toes tucked under Lisa’s thigh for warmth, so maybe it’s still perfect, anyway.


	7. Chapter 7

When the day had come where Barry had to go back to work, Len thought it would be like releasing a wolf into the wild like a scene straight out of White Fang. Only, there are no rocks being thrown or shouts of “Get! I don’t love you anymore!” or even any tears. It’s anticlimactic. Len thinks this is because they both know they’re going to see each other at the end of the day, anyway.

The morning of Barry’s first day back, he had asked Len for hugs and cuddles at every turn, telling him very fiercely that just because they’re apart, it doesn’t mean that Barry loves Len any less and Len?

Len just nodded like an idiot, and he let Barry go like an even bigger idiot.

Len hadn’t even said bye.

But now Barry’s at work, and Len is practically dragging his feet to the Rogue meeting he’d set up for the day. He stops to take a breather next to a dirty fire hydrant, and before he knows it, his hand is on his phone and he’s dialing a number he can’t believe he’d memorized on the first sweep.

“Hello?”

Len wants to hang up, or die, whichever comes first. But his fingers don’t move, and it isn’t like caller ID doesn’t exist, so he just releases a breath and says, “Have a nice day at work, Barry.”

Barry makes a small noise on the other end, something that sounds annoyingly smug. Len’s going to hang up, he’s—

“Miss you already. Thanks for calling,” Barry murmurs, and then sighs. “Captain Singh is giving me the stink-eye, gotta go! Bye, Len!”

“Bye, Barry,” he says, and the call ends. He stares at his phone, where the contact picture shows Barry wrapped in blankets. “Miss you, too…”

It isn’t like Len doesn’t want to be here, it’s just that he doesn’t want to be here without Barry, which is stupid, not to mention dangerous. He likes his team, minus Mardon, and he knows his absence this close to a heist has made the team uneasy. They aren’t the most conventional team, but they’ve stuck around this far, so that’s saying something.

There’s Hartley, who Len is convinced had only stayed because of that night he found Hartley reeking of alcohol and spatting out everything he had to say about his egotistical mother and heartless father, and well, Len knew a thing or two about heartless fathers.

There’s also Shawna, who really just owed them a favor in the beginning until she formed a sort of sisterhood with Lisa, and eventually warmed up to the rest of them despite Mick’s pestering to use her powers to teleport him into the eye of a tornado, or something like that.

And Mardon… Well, Len can’t stand the guy—far too dramatic and vindictive for his tastes—but he isn’t dumb enough to overlook Mardon’s powers and the advantages they could have for a heist. They only talk during meetings, and Len keeps it that way because Mardon will never be anything more than an asset to the team. He makes sure of that.

Lisa is a brat as ever, and Mick is Mick.

The Rogues are sitting at their typical spots around their beat up table. Len sees Mick in the usual corner, playing with his lighter. Shawna and Lisa are sitting side by side, talking animatedly about something Len probably wouldn’t understand. Mardon’s wearing that same half-angry, half-annoyed face he always has on, brooding off to the side. Hartley’s tossing a tennis ball up in the air with his feet on the table and his chair tipping precariously.

Len’s eyes narrow. Beat up or not, that table is not meant for feet. Knives, sure. The faces of people who’d wronged Len, definitely. But not feet.

Len finds another tennis ball near the doorway (used for impromptu target practices). He turns it in his hand before he flicks the ball at Hartley’s forehead, smirking as the man yelps as he falls backwards. Everyone turns their eyes to Len as he makes his way to the table.

“Good to see you too, boss,” Hartley says dryly, only his eyes and the top of his head visible over the table.

“No feet on the table.” Len kicks aside his own chair, but stays standing. He nods at Shawna, who waves kindly, but rolls his eyes at Lisa when she waggles her eyebrows at him.

“Enjoy your vacation?” grunts Mick, but that’s just his way of saying he’s glad to see Len’s stupid face.

“Didn’t burn anything down while I was away, I hope?” Len replies easily.

“You know better than to ask,” says Mick, flicking his lighter off and into his pocket.

Mardon finally shifts in his dark corner of gloom. “Care to explain where you’ve been _away_ to?” he asks, his eyes narrowing.

“I don’t recall that’s any of your business,” says Len simply. “Now listen up.” He fans out the map and begins debriefing them without preamble. He goes over the usual: the location, the expected time of the transport, the security team hired, the employee schedules, who’s on what duty, and when it’s all going down. The team nods when prompted, but Mardon continues to stare at him in a calculating look that would have Len raising his hackles if he had any. Len keeps his face neutral, anyway, because his team needs direction and the new information.

“There’s also the threat of a new meta-human,” Len adds, watching as everyone but Lisa react simultaneously. “She wants the same thing we do.” It breaks Mardon’s mask for a moment.

“So why the hell aren’t we taking her out this very second?” Mardon demands, his lips curling in a snarl. “Or at least move the heist date up so we get it first?”

Len scowls. “If we move the date, then all our work will be for nothing. We’ll have to re-case the place, memorize a whole other set of employees while factoring in the current showcase for that week and the security team they hired for that exhibit. We didn’t spend as much time as we did just to start over.”

“But what do we do if she steals it first?” Hartley asks.

“Then we let her,” Len decides after a long moment. “She steals it, we lead her into a trap and leave her for the cops to handle.”

“Two birds with one stone,” says Hartley, nodding.

Mardon’s still glowering. “I still think we should just take her out for good.” He makes an annoying ball of ice in his hand. “I can easily do that.”

Len doesn’t even want to think about how Mardon would act under the meta’s spell. Some things just weren’t meant to be seen. “No. Leave the meta for the Flash to handle,” says Len.

Shawna looks uneasy. “I thought he was out of commission.”

“He saved those people from that burning building,” Lisa butts in, and if Len didn’t know any better, he’d think she was impassive, but Len knew she was a little proud.

“But won’t the Flash come running after us if we get the diamond?” Shawna asks. She looks a little haunted, like she’s remembering the month she spent in the S.T.A.R. Labs cell.

“Then we keep him busy,” says Mardon easily. “I’ll make sure of that.”

“No,” says Len. All eyes turn to him. “You leave him to me.”

Mardon narrows his eyes, but just shrugs.

“So what happens if the meta is waiting for _us_ to get it first?” Hartley asks. “What then?”

Len ponders this for a minute. “Then we turn our plan into Plan B, and make a new Plan A. She won’t know we’ll be striking beforehand, and if by some chance she does, we’ll have Plan B to fall back on. So, we know the diamond is most vulnerable during its transport to the museum, going from point A to point B.”

“Point A is State Street Financial,” says Lisa, leaning forward on the table to point at the map. “It’s probably kept in one the safety deposit boxes until they move it to Point B, the museum.”

“Not a safety deposit box,” Len corrects. “There’s a hidden vault underneath the bank. The problem is allowing us enough time to break in.”

“So,” Hartley begins, studying the map, “there’s going to countless guards inside and out. Why don’t we create a situation that causes an evacuation of the bank?”

“That sounds like it could work.” Len nods in approval.

“Let’s set the place on fire,” suggests Mick.

“No,” says Len immediately, shooting him a dirty look. “We don’t need any civilian casualties, or any for that matter. It’s a distraction, not a means to harm innocent people.”

“Innocent, not innocent, they’re all scum anyway,” says Mardon offhandedly. “I think we can afford ourselves a few cops. Or detectives.”

Len’s jaw clenches. “I’m sure I don’t have to remind you of the fact that we don’t injure or kill anyone. We don’t need the heat.”

“Funny,” snorts Mardon. “I wonder who forced your perspective on that.”

Len narrows his eyes at Mardon, but Mardon only stares back. Len sees the other man’s eyes flicker briefly to the watch around his wrist. “Got something you’d like to share with the class?” Len asks.

“Nope,” says Mardon, playing with his ball of ice.

“Then shut your trap unless you have something useful,” says Len curtly. Mardon only snorts.

Shawna clears her throat. “So you want us to smoke them out, basically,” she says, and Mick gets that glint in his eyes whenever anything fire related is brought up.

“Not with actual smoke. We let them think they’re in danger.” Len thinks this over for a second. “I’m thinking the threat of a poisonous gas leak. It’s serious enough to warrant for evacuation.”

“So we get into the bank after everyone’s cleared out…” Hartley prompts.

“I’ve stolen from this bank before, the vault is a pain to get through mostly because it’s a ten-cylinder vault with four false gates,” says Len. He grimaces at how difficult it had been.

The Rogues stare at him, but Lisa is the only one to actually perk up.

“Guess we’re doing this together then,” grins Lisa.

“Unfortunately,” Len says, but there’s no heat behind it. He’s taught Lisa well, after all.

“Why are we bothering with the locks? I can just blast the whole thing in,” Mardon grumbles.

“You think your little storm cloud can cut through ten inches of solid steel?” asks Len flatly. Mardon scowls, but concedes his point. “Besides, it’s easier this way. Cleaner. We don’t need the trail leading back to us.”

They don’t have some fancy headquarters, just the burnt out shell of a warehouse with a maze of iron walls and targets, some of Hartley’s creations. They’re going to have to meet again anyway, so Len assigns Hartley with concocting some kind of harmless, colored gas that can be spread through the vents. Shawna is tasked with casing the points of security as well as the response times for them to get backup. Mardon is eventually given the job (with Mick as a mediator) to start small fires in deserted points of the town to spread the authorities thin while Len and Lisa crack the vault. Len remembers the layout from the previous hours he’d spent casing the place, so he draws a rough outline detailing the main parts, like the entrance, back entrance, hallways, and the stairs leading into the underground vault.

Of course, Len has backup plans _for_ the backup plan itself, but he doesn’t mention them. He has a plan if the meta pops up, and he also has a plan if the cops show up too soon. He even has a plan if the Flash shows up unexpectedly, but Len is hoping it doesn’t come to that.

The arguments get a little heated—at one point, he’s nose to nose with Hartley, furious that the man could be so idiotic to want to instigate a showdown with the Flash, but they’re both quickly assuaged when Lisa shoves them together and Len’s nose ends up in Hartley’s eye and while Hartley’s glasses end up on his forehead, and it shouldn’t be funny, only it is—but _eventually_ , they finish their planning with everyone’s limbs intact.

“If the opportunity presents itself,” starts Mardon once they’d quieted, “I think we should take our chance. See who can get the prize first.”

“It isn’t Finders Keepers,” Len growls. “The prize belongs to all of us.” Even if Hartley and Shawna don’t actually care about the prizes, since Hartley just loves to show off his knowledge and Shawna thinks of heists as a means to practice her powers. But Mardon is a bank robber like Len, and he’s selfish like Len is. There’s no way in hell Mardon’s going to take everything for himself.

“We go after it together, as a team, or not at all,” declares Len, meeting everyone’s eyes. “This meeting is over. I’ll send out the exact date and time once I have it. Dismissed.” Mardon’s the only one who makes to get up. Len makes sure to remind all of them, “You don’t like something, then you take it up with me or you leave like Bivolo.”

Mardon looks to be considering it, but sends a sour look of acceptance at Len before he slips through the exit. Hartley and Shawna stick by, stretching their legs languidly.

“We have to keep an eye on him,” Lisa says, frowning at the exit. “Don’t know why we let him join in the first place; he’s a terrible person.”

“We’re all terrible people,” Len says.

“No, we’re good people who do terrible things,” Lisa corrects. “There’s a difference.”

“Yeah, whatever helps you sleep at night, princess,” grunts Mick. “I don’t know about you, but I could use a drink.”

Len glances at the time, his eyebrows creased. “Mick, It’s two in the afternoon.”

Mick doesn’t even lift a brow. “What’s your point?”

“We need to do something productive,” says Len. “When’s the last time we had target practice, anyway?”

Mick shrugs one large shoulder. “Hell if I know, but I’m ready to burn at all times.

They end up having target practice, and it has been quite a while because Len’s feeling some muscles cramp in places he hasn’t felt them cramp before. It’s exhausting. The warehouse stretches far and wide, and Hartley had made a sort of shooting range and maze contraption months ago. The first time they’d went through it, it had kicked all their asses into shape, and Hartley practically preened at the praise and the pat on the back from Len.

Len’s grey shirt is dark with sweat by the time he hears his phone ring. His sweater is shucked off to the side somewhere, and he’s busy ducking from rapid-firing tennis balls and Frisbees to answer until the fifth ring.

“’lo?” he grunts, crouching low.

There’s a pause on the other end. “Hi, Len?” It sounds like a question, but it makes Len freeze for a split second. “Is this a bad time?”

“Hey, Barry,” Len replies. His voice sounds rough from the physical exertion. “Not a bad time. Just… practicing.”

“You sound out of breath,” says Barry in amusement.

“Yeah,” says Len. He checks for projectiles before he rolls behind another upturned table. “You on your lunch break?”

“No, I’m off for the day.” He laughs easily, and Len almost drops his gun at the sound. “Been busy, huh? It’s already four.”

Len glances at his phone to check the time, and Barry’s right. Time had flown by. “Do you need me to pick you up? I can—”

Something hard smashes into the side of Len’s nose. He curses loudly and drops the phone in favor of pressing his hand against his face. He pulls back to see blood staining his palm, and sighs heavily. His watch pulses, which has him scrabbling for the phone again.

“—ay you’re not dying, oh god—”

“I’m fine,” he assures Barry quickly. “We’re having target practice and I was distracted.” He spits out from the blood now spilling over his lips. “All right, practice over!” he shouts at the ceiling of the maze, and the lights turns back on.

“Sorry, Len, I should’ve texted first, but I… ah…” Barry sounds guilty.

Len releases his bloody nose briefly. “You what?”

“I missed your voice,” Barry says in a small voice.

Len blinks. Before he can say anything, he’s cut off by his sister’s hyena laughter.

“Lenny! Those were giant tennis balls. How did you even…” She sees the phone pressed to his ear and launches into a fresh wave of laughter.

“I’ll call you back,” Len mutters into the phone, and he waits for Barry’s stunned affirmation before he hangs up. “Not a word,” he growls at Hartley and Mick, who look like they have all the words in the world to say at the moment. He doesn’t think he looks very threatening with his fingers pinching his nose, though. At least Shawna has the decency to run and grab him a towel.

“Now can you use a drink?” Mick asks.

“Once I stop looking like a crime scene,” Len replies nasally.

“Food sounds good right now,” says Hartley. He’s unscathed, and Len blames it on the fact that he’s the one who created the maze, and therefore uses that knowledge to cheat.

Shawna nods in agreement. “But definitely drinks later.”

Len ends up calling Barry back when he’s escaped to the bathroom to clean his nose and face. He feels a bit guilty when he explains why he’ll be out late tonight, but Barry takes it in stride and even encourages Len to take some time to bond with his team—so long as he at least makes it back to the apartment at some point. Barry decides that he’ll visit the Wests again in the meantime, since his foster father had cornered him at work with an invitation to dinner that Barry had said he’ll get back to.

“So try not to have too much fun without me,” says Barry with a smile in his voice.

“Never,” he says, finding himself smiling, too. “And Barry—”

The phone is snatched out of his hand before he can finish, and he turns to fix his glare on Lisa.

“I’ll make sure everyone knows he’s spoken for,” Lisa says into the phone. She dances away when Len lunges at her. “Yeah, okay, lover boy. Don’t wait up. Or do. Say bye, Lenny!”

He barely manages a garbled apology for Barry before she hangs up and pockets his phone.

“No phone!” she declares. “Tonight, we’re bonding and you’re going to stop being a grump and we’re going to have fun and get wasted. In no particular order.”

“Food first, drinks later,” is all Len can grunt out before he’s being hauled back to the group.

x

Len hasn’t had a hangover this bad since the time he still had a fake ID.

He knows better than to open his eyes, so he merely feels around and is surprised to find his familiar sheets under him. His poor brain twinges with the strain of trying to recall the events leading to his current predicament.

Last night is practically one large blur with a few focal points among the haze of alcohol that make him want to cringe. He remembers tapping out after a third round of six straight shots and Lisa’s victorious cheer, and being lifted up by Mick and Hartley so high that he’d banged his head on the low ceiling beam, and even threatening the man bothering Shawna until she had handled it herself with a mean left hook. Len doesn’t exactly remember how he got home, but he figures it’s moot since he’s here and safe.

There’s a soft knock at his door before it creaks open. “You awake?” a voice whispers, and Len peeks his eyes open to find Barry watching him in amusement.

Len makes a noise that’s more of a grunt than anything.

“I brought you some water and aspirin,” Barry says. He sets it on the nightstand gently before pressing a cold hand to Len’s overheating cheeks. It feels nice. Len remembers cold hands last night stroking his cheek, soothing him as he slipped into sleep.

Len bolts upright suddenly, dislodging the hand. “Oh god,” he says, remembering. His body immediately protests the movement and his head throbs as his vision swims before him. “Oh, god…”

“What’s wrong?” Barry asks worriedly. “Are you going to puke?” He flashes away to grab a bucket, but it isn’t needed.

Len stares at his own hands in horror, the same hands that had grabbed at Barry’s arms, pulled him close, and refused to let him go. Groaning, Len drops his face into his palms.

“Tell me I didn’t do anything awful last night,” he says miserably. Even as he says it, the memories return to him. Len had stumbled through the front door and practically reached for Barry like he was a giant teddy bear. Christ, Barry was so shocked, he had let Len rub their cheeks together sweetly, all while Len hummed happily, probably murmuring things that Len doesn’t even remember.

“You… may have said some things,” says Barry hesitantly. “But I mean, I know you didn’t mean anything. You weren’t exactly sober.”

Len frowns at Barry for a moment, assessing his reaction. Barry doesn’t look disgusted, or hurt; he only looks concerned for Len.

“You took care of me,” Len realizes, stunned. Barry ducks his head, suddenly bashful. “You took care of me, even when I was throwing myself at you. And you slept in your own room even when I wanted you to sleep in mine.”

Barry’s blushing by now. “I like taking care of you,” he murmurs. “And I would never take advantage of you. Besides, I know you’d never want that, even if you were sober.”

Len swallows thickly, averting his eyes. He doesn’t know what to say, so he settles on taking the glass of water and popping the aspirin in.

Barry isn’t looking at him when he speaks again. “I got food from that breakfast place around the corner. Hungry?”

Len nods lightly and clears his throat. “I’ll see you out there in ten?”

Barry gives a small smile, his hand twitching forward before he fists them safely in the sheets. “All right,” he says simply, and disappears down the hall.

When Len drags himself to the bathroom, he brushes his teeth quickly and takes an even quicker shower. He feels a lot better afterwards; there’s no cigarette smoke lingering on him or alcohol exuding from his pores. Breakfast smells enticing, and Len’s barely sitting down before a plate full of food is plopped down in front of him.

“Eat,” says Barry, and Len complies easily. He doesn’t realize exactly how hungry he is until Barry’s refilling his plate only after a few minutes.

“Did you eat already?” Len asks after he’s swallowed down a rather large piece of hash. He studies Barry’s thin frame as the man nods.

“I have to go to work soon,” says Barry, frowning at the clock. He fiddles with his fingers and chews at his lip nervously. “But I was wondering…”

“Hm?” Len sips at the orange juice that had been poured for him.

“I kind of want to hang out with Lisa for a bit, after?” Barry eyes Len warily when he’s finished, like he’s waiting for a scolding.

Len swallows slowly before placing the glass down. He doesn’t know why Barry’s asking—he does have free will, after all. “Okay,” he says, since Barry still looks like he’s waiting for a reply.

“Okay?”

“Yes, that’s fine. I really don’t know anyone who’d willingly put themselves through that kind of torture, though,” Len says lightly.

Barry grins and squeezes his hand.

When Barry leaves for work, Len suits up in his nondescript clothing with a long coat that covers his gun, and even throws on the hat and glasses for good measure. He finds himself at a safe distance from State Street Financial.

Casing a place requires a level of patience that only few of them possess without going insane. This is why he never sends Lisa to do it, with her incessant chatter and googly eyes and low tolerance for boredom or repetition. Len, on the other hand, finds it calming because it’s like clockwork: customers come in, come out, employees swap shifts right on the dot, and the police circle around the building in slow, consistent sweeps.

Len loses himself in casing like he always does, and the only reason he pulls himself out of his work trance is because his phone has been buzzing endlessly.

“Cold,” he grunts into the phone, because that’s how he usually answers—or used to, anyway. He hears a muffled laugh that has him pausing in his steps.

“That’s cute,” says Barry. Len can practically hear the smirk in his voice.

“Shut up,” Len mutters, but he’s smiling anyway. He glances briefly at the bank before heading in the direction of his apartment; he’s done enough for today. It’s a long walk back, but Len doesn’t mind. “Lisa drive you crazy already?”

Barry laughs again, and Len loves the sound. “Almost. She’s been trying to give me a makeover.”

“What—why?” Len feels a small spark of anger and annoyance at his sister. Can she not see how perfect Barry is already? “I—How you are, it’s…. I like.”

Jesus _Christ_ , what the hell? Len’s beyond horrified and already trying to figure out the best way to cover his word vomit, but Barry doesn’t let him.

“That’s sweet,” says Barry, chuckling lightly. “But I meant she’s been using me to sample make-up products.”

Len presses his hand to his face, massaging in mortification. “Where’d you guys go?” he asks, hoping to steer the conversation far away from _this._

Barry hesitates. “Okay, don’t laugh, but we went to the mall.”

“The mall,” Len repeats.

“You’re laughing,” accuses Barry. Len can picture him pouting, skin swatched with dozens of make-up products and colors. “See, you’re laughing!”

Len coughs loudly. “I’m not!”

“You’re doing the coughing-to-cover-it-up thing!” Barry complains. “Can’t believe I was calling to ask you what you wanted for dinner. Maybe I’ll let you starve,” he threatens playfully.

Len balks incredulously. “You’re a superhero; you can’t be that evil.”

“Hmmm…”

“Barry.”

“Hm…”

“ _Barry._ ”

“All right, you’ve convinced me,” relents Barry. “I love when you get all growly. Is take out okay? There’s an Italian place with five stars on Yelp.”

“Sounds perfect. I’ll be home soon.”

“Can’t wait. See you soon.”

“Bye, Barry.”

Len pockets his phone with a small smile. He continues down the street with his hands tucked into his coat pockets, and has only made it a few minutes before a strange sensation crawls up his spine. It’s an itching feeling, one he doesn’t feel often but knows better than to ignore. He turns casually into the trail leading to the park, shrouded by trees, even though it’s away from the direction of the apartment.

He waits until he’s shielded by trees before slipping through them effortlessly, circling back around to find a man scanning the clearing. The cold gun is charged and pointed at the man’s jugular when Len slams him into a tree.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Len hisses. Mardon glares back at him, but otherwise doesn’t look phased the slightest.

“I wonder who Barry is,” Mardon ponders aloud. His voice becomes slightly strained when Len digs the gun deeper into his throat. “Could it be Barry Allen, by any chance? Forensics for the CCPD, and _Detective West’s_ _son_?” he snarls, his voice building in volume so he’s practically shouting by the end. “Now, Snart, what are you doing with the likes of him?”

Len keeps his face straight, though his mouth has run dry. “That isn’t any of your business.”

“When it involves the man who killed my brother, it does,” Mardon growls, shoving Len back. Len leaves the cold gun trained on him, but keeps a respectful distance.

“You’re too blinded by revenge,” Len grits out, his mind racing to find an out. “This is why I didn’t let you in on this because you’d ruin everything.”

“Ruin _what?_ ”

“The plan,” Len barks out. “You think I’d go into this heist without a fail safe?”

“What—”

“I’m playing the kid,” says Len nonchalantly. He cocks an eyebrow despite the nausea rolling in his stomach. “Worst case scenario, we get caught, and then what happens? Who do you think has access to the cells we’re stored in _and_ the evidence room holding the prizes from failed heists?”

Mardon’s shoulders drop the smallest centimeter, though he’s still wary. “So what, you think you have the kid wrapped around your finger?”

“Trust me,” says Len. He feels queasy, but he doesn’t let it show. “He’d do anything for me.”

Mardon stares at him in disbelief before his lips twist in a foul grin. “Didn’t know you had it in you, Snart. That’s almost cruel, stringing some sad sack around just to use him if the plans fail.”

“They call me Cold for a reason,” Len retorts. He’s done with this conversation, can’t stand to look at Mardon’s awful face for any longer. He turns on his heel, eying Mardon distastefully. “Stay out of it. I don’t care what powers you have. Follow me again, and I’ll ice you before you can get your little storm cloud up.”

He hears Mardon snort behind him, but he doesn’t turn around. After all, he has a dinner to get to.

x

All Len really wants to do when he returns to the apartment is sit down and not think. He doesn’t get the chance, however, because there’s food on the table and Lisa is giving him that concerned look that Len absolutely hates, and then there’s Barry lighting up his kitchen like he’s done with Len’s entire life.

Len plops down on the couch anyway, tosses off his hat and glasses, and heaves a long suffering sigh.

“Long day?” Barry asks. Len nods.

Lisa eyes him meaningfully, but doesn’t bring it up. Len appreciates that. Instead, she comes around the table to the couch and drags Len back to his feet.

“Hey, what?” Len protests.

“We’ve got something for you,” Lisa says. She leaves him standing in the middle of the room before she digs through the bag on the kitchen counter.

“What is it?” Len asks warily. They rarely get each other gifts. There’s the annual birthday present and occasional Christmas present, but the last time Len checked, today is just a normal day. He’s got every right to be suspicious.

Lisa seems to find what she’s looking for, but she doesn’t pull it out for Len to see. “Close your eyes,” she commands with a grin.

“Yeah, not doing that,” Len scoffs. The last thing he needs is to open his eyes and find out hours later that there’s a note stuck to his back saying _Hug me I’m so very grumpy_. Not again.

Lisa sighs dramatically before she looks to Barry for help. In the very next second, Len’s vision turns black. He jerks in surprise, hands scrabbling at his eyes but stops when he finds Barry’s wrists instead. Len blinks against Barry’s hands before he lowers his arms, huffing stubbornly.

There’s paper crinkling from the kitchen and light footsteps as Lisa pads over to him. Very slowly, Barry releases Len to stand off to the side.

Len blinks as his eyes adjust to the light again, and his eyes immediately zero in on the bowl held in his sister’s hands. It seems to be made of clay, shining with a coat of gloss. When he steps forward, he sees the familiar paint strokes and color combinations only a six-year-old would find pleasing. His stomach does a strange half-flip, half-burn and he looks at Lisa for an explanation.

“I made it for you,” says Lisa softly, placing it in his hands, “so you better like it, Lenny.”

Len doesn’t have any words. He stares at the bowl in his hands. His sister made it for him, had made him _another_ one when the first one had gone. It’s… He’s…

“Lisa,” Len finally gets out, and he sounds a bit strangled.

“Stop, or you’re going to make me cry, too,” Lisa says, already sounding emotional, and Len growls.

“I’m not crying.” He doesn’t think he’s had a tear in his eye since he was ten years old.

Lisa gives a small smile. “Yeah, well, dry your eyes anyway because Barry’s got something for you, too.”

Len looks to Barry, suddenly remembering he’s still there. Barry’s hiding something behind his back, gazing at Len shyly. That something is placed into Len’s hand before Barry steps back quickly.

Len studies the similar plate in his hand, only this time, it’s painted in swirls and shades of red and blue with a snowflake spanning to the edges. There’s even a pale lightning bolt running down the middle.

Barry is quick to explain. “I just—I figured you needed more things, like, sentimental things because I noticed it’s kind of bare in here,” he babbles on, “and I thought, you know, since I broke the other one, that you’d like…” He trails off when he realizes Len hasn’t looked up from the plate.

“Oh, god,” says Barry in horror. “You hate it, don’t you? You totally hate it. See, Lisa, I _told_ you he wouldn’t like it! Just say you hate it, Len. It’s completely okay. I know I’m not much of an artist, so—”

“I love it.” Len’s chest feels swollen in a good way, making it a bit hard to breathe. He looks up finally to see Barry’s mouth still open in surprise. “I love it,” Len repeats fervently, holding both gifts safely to his chest.

Barry’s eyes soften. His hands twitch forward before he shoves them into his pockets, but Len doesn’t miss it.

Len places the gifts gently on the table, and glances at Lisa, who takes the opportunity to dig loudly through their fridge. Len immediately pulls Barry into a tight embrace, feeling the other man seize up in shock before he latches onto Len and crushes them together.

“Thank you,” Len whispers. His chest feels like it’s going to explode, like his hammering heart is going to punch right through him. He drops his head and noses into Barry’s hair, his eyes squeezed shut as he sucks in a shaky breath. “Thank you so much.”


	8. Chapter 8

With Barry going back to work, things are starting to become normal—as normal as it can be. They don’t see each other for a good chunk of time due to Barry’s job, not to mention the random bouts of heroics that has him flashing in and out of the apartment at random times during the evening.

They have a system, mostly.

Barry goes to work and Len spends time with his Rogues (minus Mardon; he hasn’t shown his face since the incident in the park). Len begins to get used to seeing his Rogues as frequent as he does, since they only used to talk and meet in times of heists. It’s mostly because Len would rather not be alone at home waiting around to Barry to come home like a sad and desperate housewife. Lisa doesn’t quite believe he’s anything other than, what with the way Len makes sure that dinner is prepared before Barry gets home from work, but Len chooses to ignore her sly looks. They eat, they cuddle, they go for runs if they’re not too tired, and they talk about whatever comes to mind before retiring to their separate bedrooms.

Len still keeps an eye out for the meta-human and plots with Cisco to conjure up a trap of some sort so they can question her, but all they have so far is baiting her to use her arrows again so they can pluck the weapon right off her. It’s mostly flimsy. Well, it’s actually incredibly flimsy, but they don’t have any better ideas. Barry had suggested being the bait, but Len promptly shut that idea down before the other man could even finish his sentence. Surprisingly, Cisco and Caitlin backed him up on that, saying it’s too great a risk, and Barry had accepted it with a pout.

Cisco continues to track the meta’s movements, though nothing seems too out of the ordinary if the lack of updates is any indication. Still, Len doesn’t let his guard down.

There are moments throughout Len’s day when the screen of his watch flickers yellow with Barry’s projections, but they go away after a few seconds, so Len assumes they are mostly brought on by minor everyday worries. The flickers never become too serious, though Len had let Barry know that he can call at any time should he feel too uncomfortable—a privilege that Barry had promptly abused, not that Len minded all that much.

Things were slowly easing into normalcy, something Len could probably wrap his head around if he wanted this for the long run. It’s good, everything is good, but Len can’t help but feel like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop.

x

“Morning,” says Barry as he emerges from his room. He’s got an endearing bedhead going on and looks utterly soft in his sleep-wrinkled clothes. Len feels his insides spasm violently when he realizes that Barry is wearing one of Len’s own shirts. It looks fitting in a way that Len shouldn’t think too much about, so he doesn’t. He only gets awkwardly to his feet as Barry pours himself a cup of coffee. It’s like an itch he can’t scratch, the way he wants to be near Barry. It’s ridiculous.

“Good morning,” replies Len, a thousand years later, and he hesitates before leaning over to press a quick kiss to Barry’s temple. Adrenaline washes through him the second his lips make contact, and it buzzes inside him as he noses at the soft hair. He’s determined not to make a big deal out of it—it’s just a small peck. Though, he doesn’t know what possesses him to pull back and nod at Barry like this is a damn business transaction, but it’s done and he sits back down, stewing in his mortification.

Len stares resolutely at the scratch on his dining table, taking long sips of his coffee.

Barry takes a seat across from him, wearing that shy smile that’s only reserved for Len, and it makes Len’s insides flutter.

“What are you up to today?” asks Barry. Under the table, he knocks their feet together lightly.

“That’s classified,” says Len mildly, so Barry knows that it’s Rogue stuff. He’s just going to be doing more casing and seeing how his sister is doing. “What about you?”

Barry hums thoughtfully into his mug. “Well, this is _actually_ classified, so I can’t really tell you,” he replies, which makes Len raise an eyebrow.

“Is pencil pushing that top secret?”

Barry kicks his ankle with a pout. “I do lab stuff, too, Len.”

“Building some sort of weapon I should know about?”

“If you must know,” Barry sighs dramatically, though he looks undeniably smug, “I’m heading out to inspect a few sites that show signs of potential foul play and tampering. Mostly, it’s just people wanting to be safe than sorry. I’m very important, you know.”

“Important, huh?” Len muses. “I’m not going to lose you to a fan, am I?”

Barry suddenly looks scandalized. “Never!” he insists with a frown. “I’m just doing some tests. Nothing you need to be worried about.”

Len sighs playfully and looks off in the distance. “Sure…”

“I’m serious!” Barry jumps into Len’s line of sight, but Len only turns the other way.

“My breakfast just isn’t enough for you,” Len says woefully as Barry flashes to follow his line of sight.

“I love your breakfast!” Barry says fervently.

Len’s lips twitch as he suppresses his smile. “Right…”

Barry pouts, his eyebrows doing something complicated. “Len!”

Len shrugs, feigning indifference. “One of these days, you’re going to find someone much nicer than me…” He says this jokingly, but his words have never been so true. Barry’s going to forget all about Len, and he’s going to find someone that can give him the kind of love that he deserves. Len’s genuine smile slowly fades into a forced one as the realization settles.

“That’s not going to happen!” Barry insists, his eyes wide and honest. He must see the disbelief on Len’s face. “Can I hug you!” he demands more than asks, gesturing wildly.

“I, uh, oka—”

Suddenly, Len’s chair scrapes back a few feet as a weight knocks into him. He lets out a startled grunt before he feels arms wrapping around him and legs straddling his own.

“More than enough,” Barry mutters determinedly, his face buried in Len’s shoulder. Len finds himself wrapping his arms around Barry to keep the man from falling back.

“You don’t have to—” Len starts, but cuts off when Barry squeezes him harder, a desperate noise slipping from the man’s mouth.

“You’re everything I need, Len.”

“Barry…”

“ _All_ I need,” he murmurs.

They don’t move for a long time.

x

“So, are you going to tell him?” Lisa asks him when he’s barely made two steps into her apartment.

“Tell who what?” Len grumbles. He curses the overtime with which the department has taken to torturing Barry during times like these. Lisa offers him a beer, and he takes a long swig from it.

“Barry,” his sister continues, rolling her eyes. “When are you going to tell him that you love him?”

Len inhales his drink and sputters spectacularly. Some of it sprays onto the kitchen island, but Len can’t be bothered to feel bad about that while he’s busy choking. “ _What?_ ” he manages to cough out.

Lisa glares at her soiled counter before sending Len a long-suffering look. “I’m getting sick of you pretending to play dumb. You saw what he did for you, what he made for you. He’s in love with you, idiot!”

Len has barely calmed from his hacking spree. “I think you’ve forgotten about Cupid’s powers!”

Lisa makes a face and flicks him in the ear. “You know damned well she isn’t that strong! No meta can be, otherwise the whole city would be in chaos right now. Don’t you get that, Lenny?”

But Len is shaking his head before she’s even finished. “You don’t know,” he says.

“Oh, don’t I?” challenges Lisa, her eyes narrowed. She turns to dig through the mess on her shelf before pulling out something that looks suspiciously like Cisco’s tablet. He doesn’t want to think too much on why it’s here.

“I was doing a lot of research and keeping tabs on where the meta has been spotted,” Lisa continues. “Did you know that there were more instances where people had fallen in love at first sight this past week than there has been in years?”

“So the meta’s been busy.”

“Yes,” says Lisa impatiently, “but here’s the thing. In all these instances, the effects never lasted for more than a day.”

Len’s eyes narrow. “That doesn’t sound right.”

“Well, it is. Cisco even confirmed.” Lisa thrusts the tablet in his face, showing him diagrams upon diagrams that Len can’t make sense of. “It’s exactly like what happened to Barry, but all the victims returned back to normal after twenty-four hours. They’re calling it temporary mania.”

Len hears the words, but all he can really focus on are the underlying implications. “And just when the hell did you and Cisco discuss _this_?”

Lisa’s mouth opens and closes before she huffs. “Just because _you_ don’t have game doesn’t mean that I don’t, either,” she says airily.

Len has his phone out and dialed before Lisa can finish her hair flip. “ _Ramon!”_ he snarls once his call is answered.

Cisco squawks on the other end while Lisa immediately makes a dive for the phone. Len holds her back with a palm to her face as her arms flail uselessly.

“W-what happened?” Cisco asks cautiously. “Is Barry okay?”

“You listen here and you listen to me good—”

“Actually it’s ‘ _well_ ’—”

“This little thing you’re doing with my sister?” he growls. “It needs to end. Right now. Or so help me God, I will tear you limb from limb from _limb_ and no one’s ever going to find—”

The phone is batted away from his ear before he can finish his threat. But Cisco’s a smart man; he can figure it out.

Lisa meets his incredulous expression with her own impressive one, her eyebrows nearly reaching her hairline.

“No. Nope. You are not doing this whole protective thing on Cisco. It’s Cisco!” she cries, throwing her hands up.

“That’s _exactly_ why—”

“What difference does it make?” Lisa cuts in. “It’s like you and Barry!”

Len, for once, comes to a temporary blank. His brain only manages to reboot just as Lisa flashes her smirk at him. “We’re not dating,” says Len for what feels like the hundredth time. “It isn’t real, Lise. There’s a _difference._ ”

“There really isn’t,” murmurs Lisa. Then, her shoulders slump like the fight has left her. She reaches over to grab her tablet again. “I was trying to tell you, before I was _rudely_ interrupted, that the meta’s other victims returned to normal the next day.”

Len stares at the tablet until Lisa puts it down. “So? Then Barry’s a special case. Maybe the effects are lasting longer because he’s the Flash.”

“Or maybe he has real feelings for you,” Lisa supplies gently.

Len doesn’t know what to say to that. Lisa seems to realize this because she sets a hand on his shoulder and squeezes it gently.

“Is it so bad to even consider it?” she asks him. “Is it so bad to tell him you feel the same way?”

Believing in the possibility of Barry even feeling this way—real, actual feelings, and believing that they can even have something _real_ —that’s… that’s a terrible idea. Mostly because this? Barry and Len? They’re at opposites ends of the spectrum. They’re the exact worst for each other. They’re destined to be enemies.

It doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t work. It shouldn’t.

But it does.

Considering the possibility of something more puts Len in a vulnerable place, and he hates feeling vulnerable—but with Barry, it doesn’t matter. He’ll let the man break him into a thousand pieces if that meant making him happy. And that thought completely terrifies Len.

But he’s nothing if not brave; nothing if not determined. He’s going to break the stupid spell the meta put on him if it’s the last thing he does, and then maybe… just maybe, they can try for real, no holds barred, to see if they fit together as perfectly as they do now.

“I’ll tell him,” Len finds himself saying through numb lips.  

Lisa’s jaw drops slightly in shock before she’s pulling him into an enthusiastic hug. “I’m so proud of you, Lenny! You have actual feelings!”

Len growls into her hair, but lets her twirl them both around the room until he’s dizzy.

“Now what?” he asks a bit begrudgingly, though his nerves feel like they’ve been lit on fire.

“Tell him how you feel, duh,” says Lisa, grinning.

“I can’t just spring that on him,” he argues. “Should I bring him something? Make dinner?”

“Get him flowers or something,” she says, waving him off, “but one-hundred percent yes on the dinner! He’s going to love it. In fact, I’m going to help you plan this!”

Len sighs as Lisa begins to pull up recipe ideas on her tablet, wondering if it was wise to let his sister in on this.

x

Len feels stupid.

He’s standing in a flower shop a few cities over, trying to decide what Barry would like more. Roses are classic, but what if Barry hates roses? Does anyone even hate roses? Aren’t they the universally liked flower?

Len scowls and pulls out his phone to dial his sister. “What if he doesn’t like flowers?” he snaps once she’s picked up.

There’s a long pause. “Are you _actually_ in a flower shop?” Lisa asks in disbelief.

Len pulls the phone away from his ear as his sister’s laughter booms through. He seethes silently until she’s finished. “You said—!”

“I know what I said, but I was giving you an example! I didn’t actually think—” She breaks off to laugh again. “Imagine that. Captain Cold buying flowers to ask out the Flash. There’s a headline for you.”

“I can’t stand you,” Len grumbles, getting ready to hang up.

“Wait!”

Len’s finger freezes above the end button. He stares at the contact photo of his sister sticking up her two middle fingers and a stupid grin plastered on her face. “What?”

“I’m sorry,” she says, not sounding sorry at all. “What were you thinking of getting him?”

Len shrugs, though she can’t see it. “I was just thinking roses,” he says, fiddling with one of the petals.

“So straight into his pants then?” Lisa asks. She hears Len’s noise of indignity as he rips the petal right off. “ _What?_ They’re romantic, Lenny!”

Len’s face burns hot. “That’s—that’s not… I want him to know that I _appreciate_ him!”

“So you don’t want to bang him?”

Len is silent for a beat too long. “That’s irrelevant,” he replies as smoothly as he can. “Are roses too much or not?”

“They’re fine, Lenny. I’ll start the food at your place and then I’ll make myself scarce,” Lisa promises. “I wouldn’t want to interrupt your… extracurricular activities.”

“Please stop talking,” Len begs her. “And thank you.”

“See you soon.”

Len parts with a noncommittal grunt before shoving his phone back in his pocket. He eyes the bundle of roses before grabbing them. Romantic gestures aren’t his forte, but from all the romantic comedies his sister forced him to watch, he knows roses are a big deal. He makes it halfway to the counter before he turns back around to grab another dozen, hoping he isn’t overdoing this. After all, it’s not like he had much practice wooing his supposed nemesis. The cashier rings him up and even adds in a nice vase for free, which Len is thankful for. He doesn’t think putting two dozen roses in a mug makes for a pleasant display.

Len makes it back to the apartment with no less than ten coos from passing pedestrians, his face progressively becoming more and more pinched.

“ _Two_ dozen?” Lisa says, her eyebrows waggling suggestively. Len ignores her in favor of placing the roses at the center of the table. She’s already got the food going—baked ziti with garlic bread along with a few of Barry’s favorite pastries from Jitters—so Len takes over since Lisa insists on decorating the dining room with rose petals and tea-light candles. Len thinks it’s a little much at first, but when he sees the finished result, he can admit it looks impressive.

Lisa steps back and admires her work. “You are going to woo the pants off of him, Lenny,” she says proudly. Then, in a much quieter voice, she mutters, “Lord knows you need to get laid…”

“What did you just say?”

“Hmm?” Lisa blinks innocently. She eyes the clock as she wipes the counter down. “When does Barry get back anyway?”

“Soon,” Len says. He checks his phone to double check, and he finds it odd that he’s lacking the usual random texts that Barry sends him throughout the day. He’s hit with a crawling feeling at the back of his neck. “Huh. Barry usually calls me by now…”

Lisa’s eyebrows furrow together. “He probably just got held up at work. Didn’t you say he was extra busy today?”

“Well, yeah, but he isn’t at his office. He was going to… was going to… tampered sites…” Len trails off, staring blankly at the wall.

Lisa suddenly stops mid-step. “Tampered sites… like banks?” She turns slowly, her lips flattening into a thin line. “I haven’t heard from Mardon recently.”

Len is still frozen, not really seeing.

“Lenny, do you think…”

Whatever she was going to say is cut off by the beep of Len’s cellphone. His hands move on auto-pilot, assuming it’s Barry, but what he sees makes his jaw run slack and sends coldness shooting down his spine.

**Mardon**

_Sped up the plan. First National Bank. Kid cries the prettiest tears._

The phone slips from Len’s hands, and on his watch, Barry’s vitals flash red.

x

There’s someone pulling on Len’s sleeve when he has the bank in his sights, but he doesn’t let that stop him. He pushes forward until he feels another pair of hands grab him, with a loud voice breaching the roaring in his ears. Len turns his wild eyes to find Mick with two handfuls of his parka and Lisa tugging at his arm.

He isn’t surprised by Mick’s appearance; Lisa must have called him when Len had torn out of the parking lot without a single glance back. He’ll be proud of how quickly they had acted some other time because right now, they’re in his way.

“He’s in there,” Len manages to choke out through the gnashing of his teeth. “He’s in there, damn it!”

“Lenny, you need to calm down,” says Lisa, wide-eyed, coming around to push at his chest instead. “We can’t just rush in there! The police are on the way and there are civilians in there!”

“I don’t care,” he snarls. He’d rather be arrested than let Mardon get away with this. He’s going to kill him—he’s going to _kill_ him.

“You’re not killing anyone,” Lisa says, and Len realizes he’s spoken aloud. “Let’s calm down, okay? We need a plan.”

“A plan,” Len repeats blankly. His mind supplies him with a dozen ways to make Mardon suffer. “How about I ice his hands and break them off his wrists?”

Mick looks mildly interested. “How about I tie him down and set him on fire?”

“Mick, no!” Lisa chastises.

“No, you’re right,” Len muses quietly. “He has to die by my own hands.”

“You’re not _killing_ anyone!” Lisa repeats in a shout.

“Hell if I’m not!”

“You think Barry will want you to do that?” she counters. Len snaps his mouth shut.

He growls quietly, glaring at his sister, but she returns it evenly.

Mick flickers his gaze between them. “So am I finally going to meet this Barry kid?” he interrupts. Both Len and Lisa stare at him. Mick scowls, looking annoyed. “I’ve seen your phone background countless times,” says Mick slowly, like Len is an idiot. Maybe Len is.

“We’ll talk about this later,” Len huffs, then turns to scan the perimeter. His heart is pounding and his mind is racing, but he has to be smart about this. For Barry. He glances at the time on his watch. “I need you to make a distraction, Lise. Take my car. You have eighty-one seconds to reach the police and cut them off. Stall them as long as you can.” Len tosses her the keys.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” she warns him, and leaves him with that.

Len and Mick immediately slip to the back. The door is iced shut like the front entrance, and there are large pieces of hail melting along the floor.

Without prompting, Mick fires his heat gun before they both kick the melted door down. Screams emerge immediately from the civilians huddled on the floor against the walls. Mardon is nowhere to be found, so that only leaves the vault. There’s a storm cloud swirling above them, flickering with lightning, but Len has seen enough to these to know that they’re harmless unless Mardon is present.

“Go,” Len tells the civilians, pointing sharply at the door. They only look at him in fear. “Unless you want to wait for him to come back and kill you all, _leave!_ ”

Mick scowls at them. He fires a short warning shot at the ceiling, bellowing, “ _GO!_ ”

The civilians scramble to their feet, giving a wide berth as they flee the bank. Len’s finger tightens around his cold gun as he marches down the stairs. There’s a trail of melted ice leading directly to the vault and Len is severely disappointed in the lack of finesse in this half-assed heist. At least Mardon had the forethought to destroy all the cameras. There’s hope for that idiot yet.

When Len reaches the last step down to the vault room, he sees Mardon first, who’s currently flipping through Barry’s wallet and examining each card inside before tossing them carelessly to the floor. Barry’s in the middle of the room, blocked slightly by Mardon, but Len can tell he’s strapped down to a chair. He looks pale and shaken, and his face is slightly wet, but he’s glaring at Mardon with all his might. Len holds a halting hand to Mick as he flattens against the wall.

“Do you mind?” Barry says, annoyed, when Mardon tosses away a Jitters punch card. “I only have two more punches until I get a free pastry.”

Mardon makes a sound that’s more of a sigh than a growl. “Didn’t I tell you to shut up?”

“You were just threatening me to talk about three minutes ago,” Barry retorts. His hands blur behind him where Mardon can’t see, and Len watches as one his bound hands tries to phase through the rope, but Barry only winces sharply and stops. The watch is missing from his wrist, and when Len quickly searches for it, he finds it in the corner, flashing silently.

“Yeah, and you’ve given me squat so far,” Mardon growls. “So shut up until Snart gets here so he can deal with you.”

Barry raises an eyebrow. “You called _Len_? Do you _want_ him to kick your ass?”

Mardon stares at him is disbelief before barking out a laugh. “Kid, you’re so far up his ass, you don’t even see that he’s using you.”

Barry glares at him. “You don’t know anything about us.”

Mardon sneers. “You think he loves you? You _really_ think he cares about you?”

Barry’s jaw clenches. “I know he does. That’s why he’s going to put you in jail,” he says, his chin held up defiantly.

“He’s a criminal,” Mardon reminds him, smirking. “Did you really think you were anything more to him than a pawn on his chessboard?”

“I should be asking you the same question,” says Barry.

Mardon’s eyes narrow. He steps forward, blocking Barry from Len’s view, before he does something that makes Barry cry out in pain.

Before Len knows it, he’s bolting forward to rip Mardon away, seeing a glimpse of Barry hunched over, curling into himself.  

“The hell—Snart!” Mardon snarls behind him, but Len doesn’t hesitate to turn and punch him across the face. Mardon goes down so hard that he nearly flips backwards.  

“Didn’t I tell you to stay away from him?” Len asks, eerily calm.

Mardon wipes the blood from his lip and narrows his eyes. “You weren’t doing anything. I had to pick up your slack.”

“Thing is,” says Len, stalking forward slowly, his hands curling into fists, “patience is a virtue you obviously don’t have. Neither is knowing when to keep your nose out of things.”

“Well, here we are,” says Mardon, gesturing around the room. “You gonna get your boy-toy under control, or should we do that together?”

“You’re—not—touching—him,” says Len in clipped growls.

Mardon’s eyes narrow. “He has access to the vault. CSI were in here a few days ago.”

“Let me guess, another one of your failed heists?” Len offers.

“Get him,” Mardon enunciates slowly, his eyes narrowing, “to give us the combination.”

Len tips his head. “No.”

They stare at each other for a long moment, until Mardon finally realizes that Len is being serious.

Mardon chuckles without humor. “I should have known better.” His hand flicks out quickly, but Len is faster. The cold gun whirs as it blasts Mardon’s fingers, turning them blue.

Mardon howls in fury, charging at Len, but Mick shoulders him back to the ground as easily as he would a six-foot stick. He clasps Mardon by the shirt front before swinging a thick fist across his face. Mardon falls limp.

Scowling, Mick returns to his feet and wipes his hands off like he’s just touched dirt. “Well?” Mick prompts, gesturing at Barry with his head.

Barry’s still curled within himself, his now-free hands clutching at his thigh. Len gently pushes Barry back to see the damage.

“Barry,” Len says, and it sounds like the word’s been ripped out of him. He stares at the knife lodged deep into the man’s thigh, the blood soaking through his jeans.

“Len,” Barry breathes, his free hand—blood, blood, hurt, he’s hurt—coming to grasp at Len’s parka. Len doesn’t take his eyes off the knife.

Thing is, he knows what Barry can do. He knows that Barry has accelerated healing, as proven when there was a mishap in the kitchen and the cut healed within minutes. That being said, Mardon had left the knife inside, not knowing that Barry’s body would attempt to heal him, excruciatingly so, flesh attempting to stitch back together only to be sliced apart again and again, forcing him to endure the pain of endless stabbing.

“I’m okay,” Barry insists, grabbing at the knife handle with a wince. Len wraps a hand over Barry’s, meeting his eyes. Barry swallows before nodding, pressing his forehead into Len. Together, they rip the blade out with a wet squelch and Barry’s pained cry is muffled by the parka.

Mick appears just as Len gathers up Barry in his arms. “What are you gonna do with him?” Mick asks, jerking his head towards Mardon’s slumped form.

Len presses Barry into Mick’s arms, and he doesn’t ask any questions as he takes the pale man. “Get him out of here. I’ll be right behind you.”

Len retrieves the knife where he’d dropped it and makes his way to Mardon. He kneels down on one knee before wiping Barry’s blood on his sleeve; he doesn’t want any part of Barry to be near Mardon ever again.

“Wake up,” he orders, slapping at Mardon’s cheek.

Mardon’s head turns sharply as he comes to, but he stills when he sees the knife a few inches from his face. “Snart,” he spits. “You’re really throwing all of this away for a pretty face? An easy fuck?”

Len stares at him, unimpressed. “I’m not going to waste my breath on you more than I have to,” he says, turning the knife in his hand. “I could kill you, but that wouldn’t make Barry very happy. And you know, I care about him. A lot, actually, so letting you live is a testament to my self-control.”

Mardon scoffs. “You need me,” he says, his eyes narrowing.

“No,” says Len. “We don’t. Not anymore.”

“Think about this! The heist!”

“Some things are more important.”

Before Mardon can retort, Len slams the knife down into the flesh of Mardon’s thigh, watching as the other man howls in pain.

Mardon snarls, “You son of a—”

Len yanks the knife out, taking great satisfaction in the choked sound the man makes. “I’m only going to say this once,” Len murmurs. He lets the knife touch Mardon’s chest when the man makes to get up. “You’re going to go to jail for this train wreck of a heist, and you’re going to go willingly.”

“Hell if I am!” Mardon spits.

Len stares at him before tipping his head. “Then consider this a mercy from what will happen if you ever cross me again.”

Mardon growls, his eyes flashing wickedly, but Len doesn’t let him say any more. He rams the knife into the other thigh, his eyes blank as he watches Mardon struggle. The man’s screams pierce through Len’s ears, and Len thinks about how Mardon had listened to Barry’s cries, about how he must have ignored Barry’s pleading for him to stop, stop…

Mardon’s screams get louder as the knife twists and twists, and Len keeps twisting until Mardon finally blacks out from the pain.

Len stares at the man’s face in disgust. He wipes his own prints off the knife, still lodged in flesh, before he goes to grab Barry’s watch from the ground. Stuffing it into his pocket, he leaves without another glance behind him.

It doesn’t occur to Len until he’s safely outside that Mick didn’t tell him where he was headed. He doesn’t worry for long, though; a motorcycle screeches to a stop in front of him before a helmet is tossed into his hands.

“Come on!” Lisa shouts over the approaching sounds of sirens, and Len scrambles on before they’re racing away.

“Where are Mick and Barry?” he demands.

“S.T.A.R. Labs,” she says, and Len nearly falls off the bike.

“He made it through without starting any fires?” he asks in disbelief.

Lisa tilts her head in a way that Len knows she’s rolling her eyes. “I called Cisco and warned him in advance. They’re fine. Barry’s healing.”

“I need to see him,” says Len.

“Duh,” replies Lisa.

When they make it to S.T.A.R. Labs, Len is expecting to see the whole cavalry with needles and bandages and copious amounts of blood splattering the walls.  

There isn’t anything in the world that could have prepared him to see Mick sitting calmly at Barry’s bedside eating cookies while Barry tells him a very animated story with flailing hand gestures.

Len is stunned in the doorway, panting slightly from running, and he watches as Barry offers Mick another cookie. He takes it with a grunt, but Len knows that face; the man has a sweet tooth the size of Texas. Lisa pushes past him, actually rolling her eyes at him now. Cisco enters the room, carrying quite a few things that drop when Lisa squeezes his arm. Cisco’s eyes dart to Len and his cold gun warily.

“We’ll leave you three alone,” Lisa calls out to Len, tugging Cisco away, but Len ignores her.

Before he even knows what he’s doing, he finds himself at Barry’s bedside, practically shoving Mick out of the way.

Barry cuts off mid-sentence and blinks up at Len, who’s hovering over him.

“Tell me you’re okay,” Len murmurs. His eyes flit over every inch of exposed skin, scanning for injuries he might have missed.

“I’m okay. He just caught me off guard,” Barry says, smiling sadly. He studies Len’s face. “You didn’t…?”

Len shakes his head, his lips twisting in a scowl. “He’ll live. Unfortunately,” he spits.

“Hey,” Barry murmurs, squeezing his hand. “Thank you... but are _you_ okay?”

“You don’t need to worry about me,” Len assures him. He gently peels the sheet back to examine his bandaged thigh before tucking him back in.

“But I’m going to anyway,” says Barry, reaching over to tug Len’s hand onto his lap. Len lets him. “I’m never going to stop worrying about you.”

“I’m fine,” says Len quietly. He’s suddenly aware of Mick’s gaze burning a hole into the back of his neck, but when he turns, the man is already on his feet.

“These are good, kid,” Mick says gruffly, grabbing another handful of cookies. “You’re a keeper.”

Barry’s cheeks turn pink as he nods jerkily. “Thank you, Mick. You should come by the apartment sometime; I’ll make you a fresh batch.”

“I’m holding you to that,” says Mick, and then he flashes a look at Len that has him hissing in annoyance. “See you. I’m going to lay low for a bit. Lisa and I will let the rest of the Rogues know about the, eh, incident.”

“Good idea,” Len murmurs, and then Mick is gone.

In the quiet of the room, Len can't help but let his thoughts wash over him. The more Len thinks about the mess that happened today, the angrier he gets. He needs to review their creed with the Rogues before anything else can happen. There’s no way in hell that Len is going to let anything like this ever again. He’ll die before he lets that happen.

Len almost jumps when he feels Barry squeeze his hand; it had gone slack during his thoughts, so he tightens his hold again.

Barry studies his face. “I can hear you thinking.”

Len sighs. He plops down onto Mick’s abandoned seat and scoots closer. “Sorry. This shouldn’t have happened. I—”

“Hey,” Barry cuts in, the corners of his mouth turning down. “This is _not_ your fault. This is Mardon’s.”

“It is—”

“ _You_ didn’t choose to rob that bank,” Barry says, and Len can feel the jump in his own pulse. “ _You_ didn’t choose to endanger a dozen civilians. _You_ didn’t put that knife in me.”

An image of Barry underneath him, bloody and lifeless, flashes through his mind. He swallows down the wave of nausea that washes over him. “Barry…”

Barry swipes his thumb over the back of Len’s hand. “You saved me, Len,” he whispers to their joined hands. He gazes up from under his eyelashes. “My hero.”

There’s an overwhelming sensation in the pit of his stomach, threatening to choke him from the inside out. Len swallows painfully before he shakes his head.

“I’m no hero,” says Len quietly. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, and startles slightly when something clatters to the ground. He has to get on his knee in order to retrieve it. Barry gasps lightly when Len holds it up.

“My watch! I thought that was done for.”

The display is unscathed, and when Len taps the screen, it shows red from the lack of pulsing. “May I?”

Barry holds out his wrist accordingly, and Len slips it back on as carefully as he can. The screen slowly resets into its normal display, the steady thrumming in time with Len’s.

He realizes a moment later that he’s still kneeling on one knee, holding Barry’s hand like it’s made of glass, and Barry’s looking at him like he’s the only thing in the world that matters.

Suddenly, all the feelings he had pushed aside when he got Mardon’s text comes flooding back to the surface, and he’s almost overwhelmed with how strongly he feels for the man in front of him. He remembers his plan for the day, how he was going to whisk Barry off his feet and prove to him that Len is worth taking a chance on. He remembers how Mardon had ruined it, but he can’t think about that now—there’s still time to salvage the remains of their soiled day and turn it into something special. He wonders if their lives would be different if Len wasn’t a thief, and Barry was never affected by the particle accelerator explosion. Would they have found each other? Would they have gotten together under different circumstances? Would Len be sliding on a ring, instead of a—

It doesn’t matter; what matters is that they’re here together now, and Len doesn’t want to waste another second.

Len gets to his feet, cups Barry’s cheek and thumbs at his cheekbone. “Barry—” he starts, but he’s cut off by crashes coming from the corridor.

Barry’s eyebrows furrow together. “What was that?”

Len hesitates, eyes flickering from the door to Barry’s worried face. He wants to ignore it, but after a day like today, he can’t leave it be—not with his instincts screaming at him to investigate and protect his own, make sure they’re safe.

“Stay here,” Len says, making to move, but Barry grabs his hand and winces slightly when the movement irritates his wound.

“Len…”

“I’ll be right back,” Len promises gently, carefully pulling his hand free.

Len slips through the room, past the empty cortex and down the corridor, where he can hear Cisco arguing with someone very loudly.

“—just needs rest! He’s completely fine!”

When Len turns the corner, he sees Detective West, still in uniform with worry etched into his features. Len should have known that he would have been one of the firsts on the scene, but he didn’t realize that West would have come to S.T.A.R. Labs so quickly.

The second his eyes land on Len, the worry transforms into pure hatred.

“You—!” West snarls, reaching for his sidearm. His reflexes want him to grab his cold gun, but he can’t shoot the very man that Barry looks up to as a father.

Time slows to a crawl, and Len knows what’s coming. He can feel the charged energy in the air, can see the fear flash across Cisco’s face, but it’s too late.

Len only has a fraction of a second to lament the fact that it’s going to hurt Barry more than it could possibly hurt Len. He never wants Barry to be hurt ever again. How quickly he had broken that promise. If only he could apologize…

But Len is all out of time, and Detective West is already pulling the trigger.


	9. Chapter 9

Barry gasps as he’s slammed against the wall of the bedroom.

Len tightens his hold around the man’s sharp hips, trapping him there as he mouths at his jawline.

There are shallow hiccups of breath, hitching every time Len grinds forward. He slides his other hand up to gently push Barry’s face aside, baring his neck. Satisfied with the exposed skin, Len noses under Barry’s jaw before latching onto the soft skin he finds there.

“Oh!” Barry’s clawing at Len’s back, his hips twitching forward. “Oh, Len…”

Len soothes the forming bruise with his tongue before kissing up his neck, relishing in the noises spilling from Barry’s mouth—almost too good to be true.

A buzzing in the back of his mind tells him that he’s forgetting something. After all, wasn’t he doing something important? Something about S.T.A.R. Labs… but Barry tugs his bottom lip between his teeth and Len forgets his train of thought. Instead, he focuses on the soft give and take of their lips, the soft glide against each other. He loses himself in the feeling, in the easy way their bodies fit together.

“It’s funny,” Barry murmurs against his lips, sometime later. It could’ve been hours or minutes; time doesn’t feel like a real thing right now.

“What’s funny?” Len asks softly. His hands slide over Barry’s hips, down the soft cotton until—

Len stills. He pulls back to glance down between them, confused at the rough material underneath his fingertips, and finds Barry suddenly wrapped up in the Flash suit, his now-gloved hand pressing the cold gun against Len’s chest.

It whirs as it’s charged, the light casting ghostly shadows against the walls. Len’s eyes snap back up to Barry’s face, impassive behind the red cowl.

“That you think I could ever love someone like you,” Barry whispers before everything goes white.

x

Len bolts upright, sucking in a sharp breath.

He’s disoriented at best, but he’s still able to register the sharp pain in his shoulder. White light obscures his vision no matter where he looks or how many times he blinks.  

The second thing that comes to his mind is that there’s a threat, because he’s hurting, and he needs to remove it. Naturally, his hand shoots out to grab the nearest weapon, which happens to be a scalpel by the feel of it.

The air stirs in front of him. He makes a warning swipe, and keeps the scalpel poised in front of him as his eyes focus enough so he can assess the situation, make a plan, dispose of the threat, and—

Len stares at Barry.

Barry stares back.

It’s silent for a moment before both of their eyes flicker to the scalpel a centimeter from Barry’s nose.

At first, Len’s mind is simply blank. His brain supplies no thoughts, no orders to move or even breathe. Then, just when he feels his lungs burning from lack of oxygen, everything begins to trickle back in at an agonizingly slow pace. The text, the bank, Mardon screaming, Barry hurting…

Len drops the scalpel like he’s been burned.

Barry relaxes slightly when the scalpel clatters to the floor, though he’s still watching Len with a wary expression. Len can hear how thinly Barry is breathing, can see how his chest is barely moving.

“M’sorry,” Len grunts out, and damn it, his voice is too harsh, too cold. Barry visibly shrinks back at the words.

Barry swallows thickly, his gaze skittering away. “You remember what happened?” he asks in a small voice.

Len glances down at himself. He’s shirtless, though most of his left side is bandaged up. A hiss of pain escapes his lips when he works his shoulder. “West shot me,” says Len flatly, albeit a bit skeptically. “Huh. I didn’t think he had it in him.”

“I’m sorry,” Barry murmurs. He’s still not looking at Len, but Len can see the shine in his eyes and the determined way he’s blinking. “I wasn’t fast enough.”

Len stills. He stares at Barry for a long moment, long enough for Barry to make a subtle swipe at his wet eyes. “Are you…” He wraps his fingers around Barry’s wrist and gently tugs his hand away. “You don’t seriously think it’s your fault, do you? Because it’s not.”

Barry stares miserably at the floor. He looks like he wants to argue, but is wise enough not to. Instead, he places his hand atop Len’s knee and squeezes lightly. “It’s gonna be a while until the bandages come off.”

Len shrugs, which makes his shoulder ache. He’s used to dealing with injuries, some more fatal than others. Len’s just lucky it wasn’t a bullet to his head.

Barry frowns at him, like he knows what Len is thinking, but continues. “I had a few words with Joe. He’s refusing to apologize, but I made it clear that you were there to save me. So, you know, you’re not getting arrested.”

“Yet,” says Len, raising his eyebrows.

“He’ll come around eventually,” Barry insists. “He was like this with Eddie, too.”

Len cocks an eyebrow. “Thawne is a cop, Barry. I’m a criminal.”

“Potato, _potahto_ ,” says Barry with a shrug. “He’s going to get over it. I’ll make him if I have to.”

“Oh, you’ll make him, huh?” Len says, amused.

“What? I can be intimidating!”

Len glances from his soft bedhead to his rumpled, oversized sweater. “Barry, you’re six feet of marshmallow fluff.”

“Hey!”

“And maybe an inch of rebellion.”

“Shut up,” mutters Barry, though he’s smiling. “Think you’re funny, huh?”

_It’s funny._

Len’s smile slips.

_What’s funny?_

“Len?” Barry asks, blinking at him before his eyebrows furrow. “What’s wrong?”

Len clears his throat, eyes flickering to the table where his cold gun rests, untouched. His heart pounds in his chest at the memory. “Nothing,” he replies. He swings his legs to the side of the bed, dislodging Barry’s hand on his knee, before he gets to his feet. He finds a sweater draped over a chair and carefully shrugs it on. Barry’s silent behind him as Len trails a finger over the cold gun, studying its design before he slings it into its holster.

Barry shuffles lightly behind him. “Everything okay?”

Len looks at Barry, then. He sees the concern deep in the green of his irises, the flecks of brown framing his wide pupils. He searches deeply for that spark of lightning, that pit of darkness, but finds nothing betraying ulterior motive.

“Everything’s peachy,” says Len, and he hopes that it’s true.

x

Len doesn’t go back to their apartment immediately. He has other important matters to deal with before doing so. Barry reluctantly agreed, if only because the Flash needed to lend his presence while they booked Mardon in the meta-wing. They agreed to meet back home once things were dealt with.

Len doesn’t bother changing before he faces his Rogues—they can deal with his S.T.A.R. Labs sweater. They must have some sense of self-preservation because none of them mention it, though Hartley heaves a long-suffering sigh.

“So, I assume you all have seen the complete disaster that Mardon managed to do all by himself,” Len says without preamble. He’s standing at the head of the table as usual, with his rogues looking bored if not a little antsy. He checks off his fingers as he speaks. “Endangering civilians, abduction of a CSI, lack of a decent plan.”

“I always said he was nuts,” says Lisa. She waits for Len to do something, like get down on his knees to thank her.

He doesn’t.

“Where is he now?” asks Shawna. She blurs a bit around the edges, like she always does when she’s feeling nervous, ready to jump at a moment’s notice.

“Iron Heights,” says Len gruffly. “He isn’t getting out anytime soon. If he does, he’s smart enough to stay away from us. Which brings me to the real reason we’re here.”

Mick cocks an eyebrow. “Finally, we’re getting to the good stuff.”

“In light of recent events, I would like to remind all of you that we don’t shoot or kill anyone,” says Len tersely.

Hartley holds up a finger. “What about if—”

“No.”

“But what if—”

“Nope.”

“So, basically no more fun Friday nights,” Lisa says, sharing a melodramatic frown with Hartley.

“Mardon’s been dealt with because of his actions,” Len says. He feels the anger coursing in his veins, his hands tightening into fists. “I will not lose any more of my rogues. You do not attack civilians, and you especially do—not—attack—a—detective’s— _son!_ ” Len slams his fist onto the table, the loud sound echoing throughout the empty warehouse. He pulls a sharp breath through his nose before he relaxes. He lost his cool for a second. “What I say goes,” he continues, calmer now, despite the anger still bubbling inside him. “What I say keeps us _alive_. No one is to lay a finger on Barry Allen or the West family.”

“Roger that,” says Lisa easily, studying her manicure.

Hartley looks intrigued. “Ah, so that’s the CSI’s name. What’s so special about him? I’m just curious.” The cold gun blasts a few centimeters of hair from Hartley’s swooping fringe. Hartley stares back, unimpressed. “Right, no questions. Got it, boss.”

“You see the kid’s face, you’ll know why,” says Mick offhandedly. He turns his eyes to Len, gleaming wickedly.

“Now I’m interested,” says Hartley. Shawna sits up straighter in her chair.

Len inhales deeply, collecting himself, before he holsters his cold gun. He turns his back to pace a few steps. “Mardon’s out. He’s no longer welcome here. Stay out of trouble until everything settles. That’s all for today.”

When Len turns back around, he finds his rogues, excluding Mick, huddled around Hartley as he taps away on his phone.

Shawna tips her head. “Oh, he’s cute.”

“That’s not even his best photo,” says Lisa, looking scandalized for Barry.

Hartley glances up from his phone, meeting Len’s gaze. “You’re a lucky man.” His eyes slip down to his phone again, and he repeats, slowly, “A very lucky man…”

“Hey,” Len says indignantly. His jaw feels like it’s halfway to the floor. “Stop that.”

“Oh, look at his picture for the CCPD website!” Shawna coos.

“Hey!” Len snaps his fingers a few times, but his rogues ignore him.

“Hell of a baker, too,” Mick adds from the sidelines, picking at his fingernails.

“Len, why didn’t you just tell us you had a boyfriend?” Shawna admonishes, pouting. “We weren’t going to judge you! So what if he’s with the CCPD?”

Len feels like he’s been hit over the head with a bat. “We are not discussing this. Not now, not ever.”

Hartley hums thoughtfully. “Boss, if it doesn’t work out… will you pass along my number?”

Len snarls, reaching for his cold gun.

“Kidding!” Hartley says, quickly. “I was kidding!”

Lisa snorts, and Shawna looks all too invested in the prospect of Len’s love life.

“You are all the worst people in the world,” says Len flatly. “The worst.”

His rogues only smirk back at him. Bastards.

Before he can growl at them further, maybe toss a chair around because he’s dramatic as hell, his phone chimes with a text.

It’s from Barry, with a very vague _im home need u here asap._

“I’ll contact you guys should anything happen,” is all he says before he’s bolting out the door. He’s quick, but he still hears Lisa’s, “Off to see the mistress again,” before the door fully shuts.

He’ll get her back for that later.

When Len bursts into the apartment, he’s expecting another fight. Panic fueled his entire journey, filling his head with unknown dangers. Perhaps Mardon escaped during the transport, or maybe the meta is already back in full-swing, but—

Nothing.

Len’s still breathing heavy from his haste, but he lowers his gun as his eyes land on Barry. “Barry?” he says softly.

Barry looks up at him from where he’s sitting at the dining table, eyes wet and searching. Len freezes. He takes in the room for the first time—the melted candles and the roses and the cold dinner. The table by the front door is still lying sideways on the ground from where it’d been knocked during Len’s quick exit.

“What’s all this?” Barry asks. His voice sounds as if he’d gargled broken glass.

Len swallows thickly. He’d completely forgotten about the dinner, in the chaos of everything else, and now it’s all ruined. He couldn’t even do this right.

When it’s obvious Len isn’t going to say anything, Barry looks back at the roses. He raises a shaky hand to touch the petals, still untouched and perfect.

“Did you do all this for me?” Barry croaks.

Len’s gaze skitters away. “I did,” he answers quietly.

Barry nods gently, his gaze still focused on the rose. “Why?”

“Because…” Len breaks off and shakes his head, unable to continue.

“Why?” Barry persists.  

It’s so quiet in the room that Len can hear his own shallow breathing. “Because I wanted to show you how I feel about you,” he admits.

Barry doesn’t reply immediately, which worries him.

Len glares at the floor lining, feeling utterly exposed. He hears Barry get to his feet, but he doesn’t look up until he feels Barry step over to him, close enough that Len can breathe in the sweetness of his scent—like sugar and daisies and… home.

Barry bites his lip, eyes cast downward before the full force of his gaze is aimed at Len. “How do you feel about me, Len?”

Len’s heart pounds in his chest. He wants so badly to run, because right now he feels so stripped and bare, like Barry could reach out and shatter him with a single touch. “You already know,” whispers Len.

“I need to hear you say it,” Barry says, his voice wobbly.

“It won’t matter,” Len says, “because you’re not going to love me in the end.” He takes a shaky breath that feels a lot like sand filling his lungs, but forces himself to say what needs to be said, what he’s been wanting to say, _needing_ to say… “In the end, you’re not going to love me… like I love you.”

Barry inhales sharply at that, choking back a sob. He grasps Len by the fabric at his ribs and gazes up at him with damp eyes.

“Promise me,” Barry whispers, his eyes wide and desperate. There are tears clinging to his eyelashes. “After the meta’s spell is done—after all of this is finally over… Promise me that we’ll try.”

“Barry,” says Len, just as desperately. His hands find Barry’s and he clutches them tightly. “I don’t know... I don’t know if—”

“ _Promise_ me,” pleads Barry. A tear spills over, and he ducks his head into the safety of Len’s shirt front when a sob escapes him. “Please…”

Len swallows thickly. He pulls Barry closer, arms wrapping around the other man as if this alone could shield him from ever hurting again.

“We’ll try,” Len murmurs, tightening his hold. “I promise.”

x

The next day, Len has some sort of renewed determination to get things done—it’s kind of surprising. He cleans the entire apartment, gets rid of all the crap he’s been hoarding for years, replaces the door with the squeaky hinge, and develops four new plans to take the meta down, all while Barry is at work. It’s been a productive day, so far. Now, Len is settled on the couch with Barry fiddling about in the kitchen.

Len’s flipping through the channels aimlessly, uninterested in the shows that pop up, but then he comes across the local news channel. He blinks hard twice, and then sits forward.

“—civilians at First National Bank were petrified as they were held hostage yesterday afternoon by Mark Mardon, the infamous bank robber,” Iris says into the camera, clutching a microphone. “Sources have said that Mardon broke in to obtain Central City’s finest diamond, but ultimately failed when his plans were interrupted by our very own Captain Cold and Heat Wave.”

Len’s jaw pops open. Behind him, Barry’s fumbling stops.

“The duo is definitely known for mischief, but it seems that this could be a turning point in their careers. The act they displayed can only be described as heroics, and I, for one, stand by it when I say that they are finally showing who they really are. Heroes. This is Iris West, reporting live from the scene of the crime. Now, back to Linda Park for sports…”

Len tunes out the second Iris finishes. Heroes? “Did you know about this?” he asks Barry, who’s been suspiciously silent.  

Barry eyes him warily, fumbling with the spatula. “Don’t be mad,” he murmurs, his eyebrows furrowing. “It was Iris’s idea and I thought… the people of Central City should know you’re a hero.”

He expects to feel weird, strange, _wrong_ , but… he doesn’t, surprisingly. He certainly never thought “hero” would ever be a term used to describe him, but he can add that to the list of unexpected things to happen to him. So, Len just shrugs, ignores the twinge in his shoulder _again,_ and Barry grins at him.

Len gets the call from Cisco not soon after that. Len expects to hear him teasing about the newscast, but what he says makes every nerve in Len’s body jump.

“You have the cure?” Len says numbly. He feels… He doesn’t even know. Elated? Relieved? _Terrified?_

“I think I do,” Cisco replies, sounding incredibly chipper while Len feels like the ground is falling from under him. “Barry’s metabolism burns too fast for us to test this, but if we can try it on a human and it works, then I can adjust it accordingly for Barry molecular structure.”

“Okay,” is all Len can say with his mind still reeling.

“So this means we need to get someone who has been affected by the meta, but seeing as she’s been quiet lately, we’re going to have to bait her into hitting someone. Then Barry’s going to have to take her quiver so she can’t hurt anyone else in the meantime.”

“Okay,” repeats Len.

“You okay there?” Cisco asks.

“You have the cure,” states Len.

“Half the cure,” corrects Cisco.

“Barry’s going to get fixed.”

“That’s the plan,” says Cisco, but he makes it sound like a question.

Len takes a deep breath and releases it quickly. “Then we’ll bait her.”

x

Len’s sitting on the park bench in his civilian clothes, fingers drumming against the leg he has crossed over his knee. His cold gun is strapped underneath the bench so he falls under the guise of vulnerability. The incident reports pointed to the park as the meta’s favorite hunting ground, and Len can see why. The park isn’t overly crowded, but there are a number of civilians out and about, walking their dogs and throwing disks around, perfectly unaware of hidden dangers.

“I still don’t know how I feel about you being the bait,” Barry mutters through the earpiece.

Len snorts, watching a leaf fall from a tree. “Are you sure it doesn’t have anything to do with someone else falling in love with me?”

“Okay, maybe a little,” relents Barry.

“Focus, boys,” Caitlin chastises. “The meta could be anywhere. She’s going to take a shot at whoever is closest, so be ready.”

Len isn’t too worried. Worst case scenario, he gets shot instead and Cisco uses the cure on him to confirm that it works. So, he sits back in the bench and waits.

“Any sign of her, Barry?” Cisco asks a few moments later. “I’m checking the cameras around the park, but there are too many trees blocking my vision.”

“I’m not seeing her,” Barry answers, voice tight.

“Snart?” someone calls.           

Len’s head snaps up and his gaze locks onto Detective West’s incredulous stare.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” Len mutters under his breath. If the meta whammies the man who shot him, Len’s going to destroy something.

Detective West warily makes his way over to Len. He’s still in his work suit, no doubt hiding a gun underneath that jacket. “What are you doing here?”

“Does Joe know about this?” Caitlin asks, her voice rising.

“Joe does _not_ know about this,” Cisco supplies helpfully.

“Len, you have to get him out of there,” Barry says hurriedly.

“A man can’t enjoy nature without being interrogated?” Len gives the man a look. “After all, fresh air is quite nice after being shot in the chest.”

Detective West snorts, but he plops down onto the other end of the bench. “You’re real dramatic, aren’t you? It’s a flesh wound; it’ll heal. Not sure about your pride.”

Len relaxes deeper into the bench. “Is there a reason you’re still here or are you just looking to use the remaining bullets?”

“Len!” Barry hisses.

“Barry already tore me a new one about jumping the gun,” West starts, surprisingly calm.  

“Was that pun intended, or?” Cisco cuts in.

“So, I think it’s safe to say I won’t be using them on you. Unless you deserve it.”

“Well, gee, Detective,” Len drawls, “that just warms my cold heart.”

“He also demanded I at least apologize for what I did,” says West. He grimaces. “There’ll be hell to pay if I don’t.”

Len cocks an eyebrow. “Oh, really? And what’s Barry going to do if you don’t? Hug you to death?”

“Hey!” Barry squawks indignantly.

West snorts. “He’ll figure something out. Maybe give me the puppy eyes until the guilt drives me to an early grave.” He breathes in deeply, then, like he’s steeling himself. “So, this is me apologizing. I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions and—”

“Shot me?”

“Yes,” West grits out. “No matter how annoying and infuriating you are. You saved Barry’s life and I acknowledge that for once in your life, you did good when you could have done a whole lot of bad… But it doesn’t change the fact that you’re a criminal.” West clears his throat. “Or, _were_ , as everyone keeps trying to tell me.”

Len doesn’t say anything, but he reaches inside his coat and silences his communicators.

“You know, I’ve been thinking about it a lot—thinking about how the man I helped raise could ever feel the way he does about you, even with the help of a meta. And it’s just that, isn’t it? The meta. But you. _You_ weren’t even affected by the meta and yet… you feel the exact same way about him.”

Len looks ahead of him, watching the leaves sway in the wind. “I used to look down on people who were in love. Idiots, they were. Weak. I wondered, all this time, how they could intentionally give someone the very power to destroy them. And yet…”

“And yet…?” West prompts quietly.

“And yet, I fell in love with Barry Allen,” Len says, turning his eyes to the man beside him. Whether intentional or not, West stiffens. “That another reason for you to shoot me?”

West releases a long sigh. He studies Len for a very long moment, his face going through many complicated emotions before settling on his usual determined expression. He holds out a hand to Len. “It’s a reason for me not to.”

Len stares at the hand for a long moment before he shakes it firmly.

West returns his hands back into his coat pockets and clears his throat. “I’m not going to tell you to stay away from him after all of this. Barry’s as stubborn as he is fast. But I am going to tell you this: Barry believes there’s good in you—has believed in you long before all of this. And I never saw why, _how_ , until now.”

“You really think it’s possible for someone like me—” Len breaks off to chuckle bitterly, “—to be with someone as good as Barry?”

“I think,” West begins, folding his hands together, “you have the potential to be as good for Barry as he is for you. I’m not saying I fully support you going after someone I helped raise, especially with the history you have, but… I’m saying, if you ever wanted to hang up the old parka and cold gun for good… there could be a place for you in Barry’s life, if you really wanted it.”

“And if he’s cured and he hates me?” Len asks bluntly.

“I know that boy,” West says. “If I didn’t know it then, I know it now. There is no version of him, whammied or not, that doesn’t love and care with his entire being. He may not love you after it all, but he will forgive you. That has to be good enough for you.”

Len wants to say it will be, but he doesn’t know for sure. “I’ve got to say, I didn’t expect these words coming from you. My lucky day.”

West huffs. “Well, don’t get used to it. I’ve still got five bullets.”

Neither of them speak for another moment.

“I’m not going to make any promises,” Len finally says, and West knows what he’s referring to.

“I don’t expect you to.” West gets to his feet, dusting off his pants. “But one can hope.”

West gives another nod, and Len watches him leave until he disappears into the trees.

“One can hope,” Len repeats quietly to himself, watching the wind slice through the blades of grass at the base of the oak tree.

“Boss?”

Len turns at the voice, and finds Hartley cocking an eyebrow at him.

It hits him like a train, why he’s there in the first place. He hurries to turn his communicators back on and is immediately met with frantic shouting.

“—east wing, I don’t know!” Barry’s saying.

“Len’s back online,” Cisco says quickly. “Finally!”

“Why did you turn your device off?” Caitlin demands. “The meta is _here_!”

A split second later, Len is on his feet, cold gun in hand. Hartley jumps back in surprise.

“Whoa, what’s with—” And then he breaks off on a choked gasp as an arrow pierces through his chest—silent aside from the moment of impact. Len sucks in an alarmed gasp. “What the hell,” Hartley moans weakly, right before he faints. Len leaps forward to catch the man before he can fall, just in time to watch the arrow disappear.

“Who is it?” Cisco demands. “Who did she hit?”

“Hartley,” Len grunts out, pulling him onto the bench. He’s hit with sudden déjà vu as he glances down at Hartley’s unconscious face.

“Hartley?” Caitlin asks incredulously.

“ _Hartley?_ ” Barry roars.

“Barry, focus,” Cisco says. “She’s vulnerable at her spine, right between her wings.”

“She’s in the air! How am I supposed to reach her?”

“Barry, the trees!” Caitlin says, and then there are wooshing sounds coming through the earpiece.

“Cisco, what do I do?” demands Len. He moves Hartley so he’s sitting upright on the bench, since people are starting to stare. Len sends a glare right back at them, and they quicken their pace.

“He’s not bleeding, is he?” Cisco asks.

Len shoves up Hartley’s shirt to search his skin. “No, he’s unmarred,” Len replies. A mother gasps nearby before she scurries away with a hand over her daughter’s eyes. Len pulls Hartley’s shirt back down.

“Okay, that’s a good sign. You just have to be the first person he sees when he wakes up,” Cisco says, tapping away on his keyboard. “On your left, Barry!”

“No way! _No way_ am I letting _Hartley,_ of all people, fall in love with you!” Barry growls. “He’s the worst!”

“No argument here,” Cisco mutters.

“Barry, focus on the meta!” Caitlin chastises.

Len stays on alert as he listens to the sounds of scuffling, eyes darting everywhere.

Then, finally, Barry announces, “I got it! I got her quiver!”

Cisco whoops loudly, which has Len cringing. “That’s how we do it! Is the meta down?”

“Yeah, she’s right behind—oh.”

“What, ‘oh’?” Caitlin asks warily.

“Uhh… I swear I only turned around for a second.”

“Barry,” Len, Cisco, and Caitlin all sigh.

“She’s weaponless!” Barry defends. “We’ll find her; don’t you try to change the subject, Len.”

Len blinks, lost. “And just what subject am I attempting to change? Barry?”

There’s no reply, just the sound of rushing air.

“You’re in tro-o-o-uble,” Cisco murmurs. “Oh, there’s the quiver. Thanks, Barry.”

A few second later, Barry’s by his side, civilian clothes thrown on and an indignant expression on his face. He points a finger at Len, poking him in his chest.

“Hartley, Len? _Hartley?_ ” he cries. “You know how much I hate him!”

Len grabs Barry’s finger to stop the assault to his chest. “It isn’t like I _chose_ him, Barry,” Len says, exasperated.

Barry pouts, trying to pull his finger free. “Why did it have to be Hartley?” he sighs woefully.

“It could have been worse,” says Len. “It could have been Detective West.”

Barry groans. “Do _not_ put that image in my head, please and thank you.”

Len cracks a small grin. “Sorry,” he says, pulling Barry’s hand closer until the man falls against Len’s chest. “Are you really mad?”

“Yes,” Barry says, pouting stubbornly.

Len leans down to press a kiss to the corner of Barry’s mouth, feeling it turn up against his lips. “What about now?”

“Yes,” repeats Barry, but he’s smiling.

“Yeah, we’re still here,” Cisco pipes in.

Len clears his throat, running his hands down Barry’s arms to take hold of his hand. “It shouldn’t be too long before—”

“Oh my god,” says Hartley, and Len and Barry’s gaze snaps to him.

Len expects Hartley to be gazing at him with lovesick eyes, but… he’s staring at Barry.

Barry, whose jaw is dropped halfway to the floor.

“I’ve died and gone to heaven,” says Hartley dreamily, his wide eyes fluttering at Barry.

“Hey, no, none of that,” says Barry, releasing Len to hold his hands out in front of him. “Bad Hartley! Bad!”

“He isn’t a pet, Barry,” Caitlin reminds him.

“I think I’m dreaming,” Hartley continues. He stumbles to his feet, legs like that of a newborn fawn, before he quite literally throws himself at Barry.

Barry squawks in surprise as Hartley latches onto him, nuzzling into him like a cat. The speedster looks so distressed that Len can’t help but bark out his laughter.

Barry looks immediately betrayed. “Shut up, Len!”

“Barry Allen, right? Or can I just call you beautiful?” Hartley breathes.

“Shut up, Hartley,” he says, pushing him away.

“You know my name? Even better.” Hartley caresses him by the back of the neck. “ _Tu es magnifique, mon amour_.”

Barry yelps, his hands flailing before planting against Hartley’s chest to push him away. Just as Hartley begins to pucker his lips, Barry looks to Len for help.

“Now you know how I felt,” Len says, still shaking with mirth.

“I was never this clingy!”

“Yes, you were,” Len, Caitlin, and Cisco all say.

Eventually, when Len is all laughed out, he pulls Hartley back by the collar of his shirt and tosses him onto the bench. It has nothing to do with the way Hartley’s looking at Barry like he’s something to be eaten. Not at all.

The trip to S.T.A.R. Labs is the strangest one yet, mostly because Hartley refuses to release his hold onto Barry while Barry’s busy holding onto Len to flash them there. It’s a hot mess.

Miraculously, they arrive in the cortex in one piece. Caitlin and Cisco are waiting with the equipment ready.

Hartley’s still hanging off Barry’s back like a giant koala, so Barry does a little shimmy to dislodge him.

“But—! My love!” Hartley cries.

“I am not your love,” Barry says, pointing his finger.

“We can make this work,” Hartley pleads, dropping to his knees. “I can change! I’ll be better!”

“Oh, Cisco, just inject him already!” Caitlin says, looking embarrassed _for_ Hartley.

Hartley’s so focused on Barry that he doesn’t notice Cisco until the needle is already sunken into his skin. “Ah! Don’t you dare hurt my Barry, my… one and… only.” He collapses onto the floor, unconscious.

“That was embarrassing for all of us,” says Cisco, still standing over him with needle in hand. “Good thing it’s recorded for future blackmail.”

“Cisco!” Caitlin frowns.

“I’m kidding,” Cisco says, but he shakes his head subtly at Len when he passes him on the way to the recovery room.

“So, if this works, he should wake up without the effects, right?” Barry asks, nudging at Hartley’s leg with a foot.

“Yup,” says Cisco.

“Should he be on the floor like that?” Len asks.

“I mean, the antidote shouldn’t take too long, so I figure we could save time and energy to just let him be.” Cisco shrugs, looking unperturbed. “Whoops,” he says when he steps on Hartley’s fingers, but Len figures it isn’t an accident when he takes a step backwards for his other hand. Caitlin rolls her eyes, but Len can tell she’s been itching to do something similar.

Sure enough, Hartley comes to a few minutes later.

“Ugh, my head,” Hartley groans. “Where the hell…?”

“Morning, sunshine!” says Cisco cheerily.

Hartley grabs his head, wincing. “Not so loud!” He squints up at them. “Why am I at S.T.A.R. Labs?”

“You were shot by the meta human known as Cupid,” Caitlin informs him helpfully. “Remember?”

Hartley rubs at his chest after Caitlin has helped him into a chair. “I was at the park, on a walk when I saw you, Len.” His eyes flicker to Barry, hovering sullenly in the background. “And you. You’re Len’s cute boyfriend.”

Len’s going to kill him.

Cisco has his eyebrows raised, as does Caitlin, but they don’t comment on the label. If anything, Cisco looks a bit smug.

Caitlin shakes her head, back into focus. “Hartley, you were whammied, but we injected you with the cure. Do you feel any different?”

“I don’t think so. But how should I know you even made the antidote right?” he asks, narrowing his eyes at Cisco.

“Hey, you should be grateful we didn’t leave you a blubbering idiot,” says Cisco. He taps his chin. “Oh, wait.”

Hartley doesn’t look amused.

“Give it to them straight,” Len grunts, and Hartley looks a bit betrayed.

Hartley gives a stubborn sigh. “I do feel a bit nauseous, and my fingers are throbbing for some reason, but other than that, I feel fine.”

Cisco nods, hiding his smirk under the guise of marking notes on his tablet. “Great. Nausea is a side-effect, but it should subside.”

“I would hope so,” Hartley mutters bitterly.

“All right, I’d say this test was a success,” says Caitlin, clasping her hands together.

“Wait a second,” says Hartley, squinting his eyes at them. “Was I part of your bait?”

“No matter!” says Caitlin cheerily. “You’re free to leave now.”

Grumbling, Hartley gets to his feet, only to stumble after a few steps. Len grabs hold of him to steady him. “I’m going to have to take him home,” says Len, much to Barry’s chagrin from the look on his face.

“I’ll update you on our, uh, unique situation,” says Cisco, glancing at Hartley, who is too busy trying not to puke.

Len helps him wobble over to the exit, and then into the passenger seat of his car. Once he’s buckled in and the door is shut, Len faces Barry.

“He’s the worst,” says Barry, pouting.

“He grows on you.” Len shrugs. “I’m going to drop him off at Lisa’s and then I’ll see you at home. Though, she’s probably going to want to hear all the details of Hartley’s predicament, so it may be a while.”

“As long as you come back to me,” says Barry with a small smile. Len squeezes their hands together, then gets inside to start the car. He tries not to glance at Barry in the rear-view mirror, growing smaller and smaller with every passing second.

x

It turns out Len was right; Lisa is _the_ one for gossip.

She makes Len tell her absolutely everything, right down to the shirt Barry was wearing when he was yelling at Len about Hartley.

(“That navy collared one with the buttons, why does it matter?”

“Because that’s your shirt, idiot.”)

It’s been a long night and while it’s nice for him to catch up with his sister, he would rather be at home where he knows Barry is waiting for him. He bids his sister goodbye after enduring two hours of her teasing, ruffles Hartley’s hair—who is passed out on the couch—and then leaves.

Len has his keys in his hand, twirling it around his finger. He reaches his car, but he doesn’t get inside. There’s the feeling of prickling against the back of his neck again. He didn’t expect to feel it so soon.

“You just don’t know when to quit, do you?” Len asks the darkness.

There’s silence, and then a trill of laughter.

“You’re smart, what do you think?” comes the meta’s voice. Len follows its path, and finds Cupid just as she steps from the shadows.

“I think you’re in way over your head.” Len studies her bow, long and arched with hearts etched into its wood. “You’re out of arrows. There’s not much you can do without them.”

Cupid cocks her head. “That annoying Flash is always sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong. But he doesn’t matter. What matters is you, and me.”

Len narrows his eyes at her until she laughs.

“Oh, I don’t mean like that. I can see I’m not your… type. I was merely referring to your skill set. I could use someone like you.”

“And you think I’ll help you? After all the chaos you’ve caused in my city?”

“I know you will,” says the meta.

Len snorts.

The meta smirks. “You’re a tough one, you know? You act like you don’t care about anyone… but you do, don’t you?” She tosses a card between them. When Len’s eyes flicker down, he finds Barry’s CCPD ID picture grinning back at him. “You know where this is going.”

“What do you want?” says Len through his teeth.

“The diamond,” says Cupid simply.

Len scoffs. “All of this for a stupid jewel?”

“If I recall correctly, you wanted to steal this ‘stupid jewel’.” She pulls a small rectangle from her pocket and turns it around in her fingers. The USB. “Besides, it’s not just any jewel. The diamond of Aphrodite... Don’t you know the story? A mortal man fell in love with the goddess Aphrodite, and he loved her so much that he stayed with her up until he was called for battle and killed. Distraught, Aphrodite turned him into this gem, to symbolize their eternal love.” The meta sighs dreamily. “Don’t you just _love_ love?”

“That’s a load of crap,” says Len, and the meta’s jaw pops open in disbelief. “What man wants to spend the rest of his days as a rock?”

The meta glares at him, but shakes herself. “Whatever you may think, it does not matter. The diamond will be mine.”

“So, what, I help you steal the diamond and you leave Central City?” Len says with disbelief.

“Yes. Simple as that.”

“I’m supposed to believe you’re going to just leave?”

“Yes,” says the meta, cocking her head. “There are other symbols of love I’ve yet to have in my collection. You help me get the diamond of Aphrodite, I leave Central City and never come back.”

“And if I say no?”

The meta smiles unkindly. “You can steal my arrows, fine, I’ll just make more. Maybe this time I’ll make sure they’re meant to kill. You can do whatever you want, but I know your weakness now.” She steps closer to him, her wings flapping softly behind her. “And I will destroy him, however long that may take me—I will _never_ stop trying to destroy everything and everyone you have ever loved… Unless you do this one favor for me.”

Len hands curl into fists, but he remains silent. Cupid sighs happily, seeing the way Len’s shoulders drop in defeat.

“So,” Cupid begins, sickly sweet, “here’s what’s going to happen, sweet pea…”

 


	10. Chapter 10

Len awakes with a knot in his chest.

He doesn’t move after he blinks his eyes open, just lays there and stares at the stripe of sunlight above him as it slowly makes its way across the ceiling. His body doesn’t feel like his own; just wrong.

He soon hears the soft patter of Barry’s footsteps as the man goes about his morning routine.

Len shuts his eyes again and tracks Barry through his routine: his humming as he brushes his teeth, the faucet squeaking three times because Barry can never get the temperature right, the opening of the second drawer only to remember his shaving razor is in the first, the two sharp snaps as Barry makes his finger-guns at his reflection.

Len sighs. He rubs a palm over his heart before he drags himself out of bed. He doesn’t look at his reflection as he redressed his stitches, just keeps his eyes down and focuses on getting himself more awake, more alert. His efforts don’t do much.

By the time Len shuffles into the kitchen, Barry has a pot of coffee ready, already pouring them both a cup.

“Hey!” Barry turns and smiles at Len, holding a mug in each hand. “Morning, sleepyhead.”

Len stares at him for a long moment. His eyes flit over Barry’s sleepy grin, the worn t-shirt he obviously stole from Len’s closet, the mismatched socks, Len’s _World’s Okayest Brother_ mug held out to him (no matter how many times he scorns his sister for that gift, Barry still sees past it).

Len slowly takes both mugs and places them on the counter before pulling Barry into an embrace.

“Oh!” Barry squeaks, surprised, but he squeezes back. “What’s gotten into you?”

Len lets his eyes fall shut, enjoying the contact while he can. “You know I’d do anything for you, right?” Len murmurs into his hair.

“I know that, Len,” Barry whispers. He tries to pull back to look at Len in the face, but his hold stays firm. “Are you okay? You’ve been acting weird for a few days now.”

Len sighs heavily and burrows deeper into Barry’s neck. “It’s all gonna be over soon,” he says quietly.

Barry strokes up and down Len’s back. “Is that what you’re worried about? Cisco should be ready with the antidote any day now. You don’t have to worry.”

“I’ll miss this.”

Barry chuckles softly. “You sound like you’re never gonna see me again,” he says, rubbing Len’s back.

Len doesn’t reply, just holds on until long after their coffee turns cold.

x

Screaming.

There are people screaming.

Panting.

Len is panting as he runs, ducking his head as a bullet flies right over him and lodges itself next to an expensive-looking painting. He fires his cold gun at a camera he had missed, cursing under his breath as it provokes a fresh wave of panic.

He’s on the second floor of the museum, looking down at the fleeing civilians, clutching their fancy dresses and leaving behind personal belongings in their haste. Amidst the chaos, the winged meta-human bends down to pick up a discarded ring before slipping it over her finger.

“A little help would be nice,” shouts Len at her in exasperation. He makes a wide gesture at the sealed glass around the diamond display.

Cupid examines the ring on her hand before using her wings to launch herself onto the second floor. “I thought you had it covered,” she says nonchalantly as she lands on her feet. Len wants to wipe that smile off her face.

“I said I’d help you,” Len reminds her bitterly, charging his cold gun. “I didn’t say I would be doing all the work.” He blasts at the glass.

“Be careful!” the meta hisses, hand flying out before catching herself. “If that diamond is damaged—”

“There’s no time for finesse,” Len cuts in with a growl. “Your entrance already caused quite the panic. You came in too early.”

The meta glares at him, but raises a wing to bat against the frozen glass. It sends spider-web cracks down the side. Len slams the butt of his gun against the top, trying to form a hole. Once they’ve made one big enough, he reaches inside to extract the diamond.

“Let me see,” the meta demands with glee, but Len holds the cold gun between them.

“So you can make off with the diamond and leave me to deal with the cops?” Len scoffs, tucking it inside his coat. “No. We make it out here, then you get your damn diamond.”

From their vantage point on the second floor, they can see the police finally piling into the museum, shouting out orders. The meta scowls at him.

“Time’s up,” says Len.

“CCPD! Stop right there!” an officer yells from his left. Len ignores him, hears the subsequent flap of the meta’s wings as she bats the officer right off his feet. His eyes flicker back to make sure the officer lands safely, just knocked out cold.

“A little thank you would be nice, sweetie,” Cupid murmurs as she matches his stride.

“It isn’t necessary,” he says. The main entrance is out of the question; so is the side exit. The back would be too obvious. “I _told_ you the plan, and yet you couldn’t even follow a few, _crucial_ steps.”

“Well, we got the diamond, didn’t we?” the meta hisses. More officers are gathering up around them, about ten by the sounds of their shouting.

“We could have avoided this whole mess,” Len snarls back. “If you had just let me use my team—”

The meta barks out a laugh. “I trust your team as much as I trust you. If I so much as see another rogue, I’ll find your little CSI and drop him into the ocean ten miles out.” She curls her lip at him. “You’re a man of many plans, are you not? Use plan B.”

Len bristles silently, his blood rushing at the threat against Barry. He peers at the high ceilings of the museum, locking onto a stained-glass window. “Your wings. How strong are they?”

“Strong enough,” the meta says, narrowing her eyes. “Why?”

“We can’t get out by foot. We’re going by air.” Len fires his gun at the window until it shatters under the beam.

The meta huffs before hooking her arms under Len’s. It takes some awkward maneuvering as her wings begin flapping, but then they’re soaring through the air, over the head of the officers.

Once they’re out in the open air, Len presses the cold gun against her neck. “In case you get any funny ideas about dropping me,” he says, and the meta snorts.

They fly until the museum is far behind him. Though, far in the distance, Len can see a red blur zig-zagging closer and closer. His heart thunders against his ribcage. His preparations have failed him, it seems like.

“This is good enough,” says Len, withdrawing his gun. The meta hasn’t even landed before releasing Len, who falls and lands in an indignant heap. Len glowers at her. “You’re really pushing your luck today.”

The meta strolls over, a slight bounce in her gait, smiling wickedly. “I don’t know; I’m feeling pretty good.” She holds her hand out for the diamond. Len gets up and dusts himself off.

“You have less than twelve hours to leave this city,” Len says bluntly.

The meta cocks an eyebrow. “That isn’t nearly enough time for celebration—”

“ _Leave,_ ” Len says with finality. He drops the diamond into her palm.

The meta narrows her eyes at him, but tucks the diamond away. “Nice working with you,” she drawls, giving him a mock-salute. Her eyes flicker behind him. “I’ll let you deal with the trash.” Then, she’s gone.

Len spins around, cold gun at the ready.

Barry stares back at him, the shock in his eyes unconcealed by his cowl. Len has never felt more like a deer in headlights than at this moment.

“You… you’re working with the meta?” he whispers. The wind picks up, causing the trees to rustle around them. “You’re working with Cupid?”

Len’s ready to get on his knees and beg Barry to listen to his explanation, but he stops himself—just barely. In the corner of his eye, he can see the meta alongside the shadows of the building, watching curiously. He curses under his breath.

“Is that such a surprise?” Len calls back tauntingly, though he tries his best to show the pleading in his eyes. Barry doesn’t see it, too harmed by the betrayal.

“You stole the diamond,” says Barry shakily.

“You’ve no business here, Flash. Just pretend you didn’t see this.” Len turns casually to block his face from the meta, and then shakes his head subtly at Barry. It goes unseen.

“You know I can’t do that,” Barry says, torn.

“Flash,” Len drawls. He needs to get Barry out of here, but most importantly, he needs the meta to leave without any suspicions. There are only a few things that can make this happen, even though there are risks that Len isn’t sure he’s willing to take. It must be done.

Len inhales deeply, willing his hands to stop shaking. He charges his cold gun. 

Barry flinches back. “W-what are you doing?”

“Plan C,” Len says, his aim never wavering. He turns to blast at the road, where a semi-truck is rapidly approaching.

“No! Don’t—!”

The cold gun freezes over the gravel, forming a long stretch of dangerous black ice. The truck honks loudly as it skids, and Barry races to the rescue.

Len only has a few precious moments. He turns on his heel and darts toward the meta. “Go!” Len yells at her. “While he’s distracted!”

The meta grins, her teeth looking sharper than ever. She blows a kiss to Len before taking off down the ally. Len watches until she disappears, and then he’s sprinting back to help Barry. The truck is stopped, no one is harmed, and the Flash is nowhere in sight. Len slumps back against the building.

He’s focusing on steadying his breathing, doubled over, when someone grips him by the front of his coat and hauls him back upright.

“ _Why,_ ” Barry cries in front of him, pressing him roughly into the wall. “Why would you do that?”

“Barry, let me explain,” Len pleads. He tries to reach up to grasp Barry’s hands, but Barry pulls forward to slam him back. The breath is knocked out of Len, and his head spins as he tries to focus on the man in front of him. Len had forgotten how strong Barry is.

“You helped her steal the diamond. You—you _endangered_ all these lives!” Barry releases his hold on one collar to swipe at his eye. “I don’t… I don’t know why. I thought I could trust you.”

“You _can_ trust me,” Len says desperately.

“I,” Barry starts, his breath coming out in quick gasps, “I don’t believe it. You could have killed those people, Len!”

“I knew you’d reach them in time, Barry.” Len knew that was the wrong thing to say as soon as it left his mouth. Barry pulls back, his eyes wide.

“I never should have trusted you,” he says brokenly. He winces suddenly, clutching at his chest, his heart. His watch is going haywire. “Ah…”

“Barry?” Len steps forward warily. In his pocket, his phone is vibrating violently—Cisco, no doubt. “Barry, you need to—”

“Don’t touch me!”

Len barely stops himself from flinching. He curls his outstretched hand and pulls it back, swallowing thickly. “You need to get to S.T.A.R. Labs, Barry,” Len whispers. “I promise I’ll explain everything later.”

Barry’s shaking his head before Len even finishes. “I don’t need to hear you lie to me, Len. Not again.”

“Barry—”

Barry shuts his eyes tight. “Please, just _stop_.”

Len mouth snaps shut with an audible click.

The watch has calmed down some, but only slightly. Barry gives him one last fleeting look, and then he’s gone.

Len could’ve gone his whole life without being on the receiving end of that look. Pure betrayal and disappointment, defeat and sadness all mixed up inside green irises.

It’s quiet for a long moment before Len reaches inside his coat to turn on his comms.

“All set there?” comes West’s voice through his earpiece.

Len takes a deep breath and releases it slowly. “The meta has the fake diamond. Plan was a success.”

West hums lowly on the other line. “You don’t sound like it was a success.”

“The diamond’s secure,” says Len, eyes lingering on the place where Barry had vanished. “That’s all that matters, right?”

x

Len has barely finished letting Detective West debrief him before he’s racing to S.T.A.R. Labs. Cisco had called to inform him that Barry had fell unconscious after he’d administered the cure, to which Len had promptly yelled at Cisco for giving it so suddenly—to which Cisco yelled _back_ that it was Len who had almost given Barry a heart attack in the first place, which shut Len up immediately.

Len misses the days where he wasn’t trampled all over by scientists.

Now, Len is standing in front of the entrance, but he can’t quite bring himself to enter. He still has the chance to cut his losses now and live out his days as they were before. Though, they will never really be the same—not when he knows what it could be.

Len sighs, but drags himself inside because he needs to see Barry through this. Barry, who is currently unconscious in the medical bay, hooked up to too many machines.

Cisco eyes him curiously from beside the heart monitor. “I told you he would react this way if you left him out,” he says, fiddling with his tablet.

Len sighs. “It was the smart thing to do. Too many moving pieces on the board. Failing wasn’t an option.”

Caitlin enters the medical bay shortly after, giving Len a nod before adjusting the machines. “He shouldn’t be out too long now. Is the meta taken care of?”

Len nods. “West is tracking her, but he can’t make a move until she goes back to wherever she’s been storing all of her prizes. We think it’s somewhere by the pier, but they can’t exactly go in guns blazing and possibly scare her off. So we wait.”

Caitlin nods, eyes still on the machines. “And you?”

“What about me?” asks Len gruffly.

Caitlin turns to cock an eyebrow at him. “Are you thinking of sticking around?”

Len gives a halfhearted shrug. “We’ll just have to see, won’t we?” He turns his eyes back to Barry.

“Like it or not, you’re one of the good guys now,” says Cisco. Len scowls, but there’s no heat behind it.

“Don’t be too sure,” Len mutters. Cisco snorts and shakes his head.

Len crosses his arms and leans against the doorframe. He studies Barry’s sleeping face until Cisco makes a remark about how creepy it is, and then switches to glaring at the scientist instead.

It isn’t too long before Barry makes a small noise, his heartbeat speeding slightly. His eyelids flutter open, adjusting to the bright room. He turns his head to peer at Cisco, who waves excitedly, and then at Caitlin, who smiles warmly. It’s silent as they all try to gauge his reaction. Barry only looks confused until his eyes land on Len.

Barry gags, a hand flying over his mouth. Cisco barely manages to toss a trashcan at him before Barry lurches upright and vomits.

“Well, that’s the Scarlet Speedster I know,” says Len. “Though, I am a bit offended you find me so sickening.”

“It’s only the chemicals making him extremely nauseated,” says Caitlin, gently rubbing Barry’s back. She gives him a small cup of mouthwash, which he takes gratefully.

“How do you feel, Barry?” Cisco asks.

“Like I’ve been dragged through emotional hell and back,” Barry croaks once he’s rinsed his mouth. Len feels his adrenaline spike at the man’s voice.

“Do you remember why you’re here?” Caitlin asks softly.

“C-Cupid,” Barry murmurs.

“Other than that?”

“I… I don’t know.” He shakes his head lightly, but stops when it seems to bring a fresh wave of nausea. “My head hurts.”

“That will go away soon,” Caitlin assures him, squeezing his shoulder.

“Barry?” Len murmurs, but Barry refuses to meet Len’s eyes. A sinking feeling begins in his stomach.

“Well, hey! You’re cured!” says Cisco excitedly, patting him on the back. “We need to celebrate! I’m thinking classic horror movie night… You in, Len?”

Len hasn’t taken his eyes off Barry, even though the other man is still avoiding his gaze. “Ah… Go on ahead without me.”

“Oh, come on!” Cisco says. “We did good, team!”

_Team._

Len swallows thickly, finally glancing away. “I… don’t think I’m wanted here.”

Cisco blinks at him. “’Course you are! Right Barr?” Cisco prompts. Silence fills the cortex. It crawls down the back of Len’s neck, itches at his skin. “… Barry?”

“Cisco,” Caitlin murmurs uncomfortably, eyes flickering between him and Barry.

Cisco’s smile slowly drops, finally reading the tension in the room.

“He needs to leave,” Barry says flatly.

“Barry, he’s—he did good,” says Cisco, stunned. “He’s spent countless hours tracking the meta’s movements. He’s the one who pushed this plan through for the smallest amount of casualties. He—”

“ _Smallest amount of casualties?_ ” Barry snaps. “The amount of civilians—the truck—the… you know what? I don’t care what you tried to do. You still let the meta get away with the diamond.”

Caitlin steps forward, shaking her head. “Barry, maybe you should hear him out…”

With a scoff, Barry turns to look at Len. Len’s fight-or-flight instincts kick in at the sheer amount of hatred in Barry’s eyes.

“He’s a criminal, and a liar,” Barry says quietly, his burning gaze boring right into Len. “And he hurts people. And he robs them.”

Len’s heart is hammering against his chest, desperate in its attempts to stay close to the man before him. “Barry—”

“This is not on me anymore,” Barry says. He turns his back to Len—an obvious dismissal.

Len can very well feel the life draining out of him. He can’t make himself move for a long moment, can’t take his eyes off the back of Barry’s head, can’t even breathe. His lungs protest at the lack of oxygen, and his skin prickles like he’s being burned alive.

He can’t even bring himself to part with one last witty remark. He just… he just leaves.

Cisco tries to stop him on the way out, but Len grabs the man’s hand before it can make contact, and slowly releases it. Caitlin’s mouth is set in a deep frown, her eyes swimming in pity. She doesn’t try to stop him, but she does give him one last squeeze on the arm.

Len refuses to feel it.

He refuses to feel anything.


	11. Chapter 11

Len makes it back to their— _his_ apartment on autopilot.

He’s fine. He’s _fine_.

His hands don’t shake when they fit the key in. His chest isn’t cold when he presses a hand against it. His heart doesn’t stop beating despite how it feels like it’s been ripped clean out of his ribcage. He’s still breathing even if it hitches in turn.

He braces himself against the kitchen counter, staring blankly down at the marble.

Len should count this as a win. He was dealt a terrible hand, and he came out relatively unscathed. Mardon’s finally gone, the meta will be taken care of, his rogues are all safe, and Barry—

His hands tighten around the counter.

Well, Barry isn’t his problem anymore. Len doesn’t have to worry about the man’s lack of self-preservation any longer. He doesn’t have to deal with the endless messes made in his apartment, or the guilt from trying to do his job, or the constant death threats from the man’s family.

Or his cooking. His baking.

The infectious sound of his laugh. The way his eyes crinkle when he smiles.

How he treats Lisa better than Len does.

How he puts others before himself.

How he _believed_ in Len—and how Len let him down.

Len feels something wet hit his cheek. He jerks back, glancing up at the ceiling for any signs of leakage. He stares dumbly at the blank wall for a moment before he feels the sting in his eyes and another drop against his skin.

Len’s jaw clenches. He swipes at his face with the back of his hand before any other tears can fall.

Pathetic.

The job is done. It’s over. Len needs to move on.

There’s no use being mad, or angry, or devastated because he has no one to blame but himself. After all, he was the one who let his walls down. _He_ was the one who thought he could have it all, but guys like him don’t get happy endings.

Guys like him get to watch the love of his life leave, because they deserve better than anything Len could ever offer.

But he wants. God, he wants.

He wants to talk it through. He wants to start over. He wants to _try_. He wishes, oh god, how he fucking wishes he could have done things differently. He thinks too much like a chess player, too much like his father. He can think up plans that are brilliant, plans that work, but when it comes to figuring out the _feelings_ of others, he’s at a loss. Feelings aren’t supposed to matter in his field. Feelings are what get people killed. They are easily manipulated, easily controlled.

He never thought he’d ever fall victim to what he’s seen many others crumble to.

The sting in his eyes is back again. He exhales in a sharp hiss as he releases the counter from his vice-like grip. There’s a stray glass sitting on the counter, and Len stares at it for a long moment before his hand acts on its own.

The glass shatters when it hits the floor, and the sharp sound echoes in his empty apartment like a gunshot. It’s satisfying in a way.

Len stands there silently for a few moments. Then, he just explodes.

Dishes fly off the counter, cracking and splitting—chairs are tossed aside before the dining table is flipped so hard it lands halfway across the living room.

Throughout it all, Len yells. Nonsense sounds leave his throat like he’s trying to expel the pain in his stomach, in his chest. His trail of havoc leads to the bathroom, where he yanks all the drawers off its hinges until their contents spill to the floor. He catches his own wild eyes in the mirror and immediately shatters it with his fist.

Len is breathing unevenly by the time he reaches his bedroom. His room is safe because in here, there’s no reminder of what he lost; there’s no reminder of—

His breath catches in his throat as he sees the ceramic plate propped up on his nightstand.

He’s still as he stares at the blue snowflake and the yellow lightning. Memories flash through his mind: flushed faces, shy words, a tight embrace.

Lunging forward, Len grabs the ceramic, cold and smooth under his fingertips. He winds his arm back, ready to smash the reminder to pieces, ready to forget him for good.

But—

His fingers won’t let go.

He tries again and again, feeling his muscles strain under the force.

No matter what, he won’t budge.

A strangled sound escapes him, and it’s at that exact moment that all the fight is ripped from his body. He slumps in exhaustion, catching himself roughly with his back to the wall. The breaths wheeze right out of him, and his hands shake where they clutch desperately at the ceramic.

It isn’t long before his legs give out enough for him to slide down to the floor. His insides lurch violently as he tries to contain himself. There’s no red-hot rage and anguish fueling him any longer, just the paralyzing cold of its absence.

Len doesn’t scream or yell—doesn’t want to lash out anymore.

So he stays sitting in the dark, cradling the plate to his chest.

Alone.

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Maybe….

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Maybe Len should get up.

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No.

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Maybe Len should apologize.

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 _Just stop_.

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x

Barry Allen has always been a romantic.

He believes in going the extra mile for the one he loves, putting his all into every and any task, making it his very goal to make them smile.

When Cupid’s arrow hit him, it only amplified that trait, and made him into a hopeless romantic’s dream come true—or nightmare, considering his object of affection’s way of life.

Barry was a clingy mess, he knows, but it _wasn’t him_. It was Cupid and her wayward arrows; another misguided product of the particle accelerator explosion at its finest.

It made Barry see the man as if he was on a pedestal, as if he could do no wrong. It wasn’t real.

Barry may bake, but he doesn’t bake for his enemies. Barry may love with all his heart, but he just cannot love his enemies.

He expects to come out of the spell like he’d returned from an out-of-body experience. He expects to feel the switch flip as he’s returned to his normal self.

It doesn’t feel like anything.

He thinks it had worked. After all, he doesn’t feel anything but anger and betrayal when it comes to a certain criminal. Though, to be fair, he doesn’t let himself think otherwise, either.

Cisco and Caitlin don’t mention Snart, despite the look in their eyes. They run tests on Barry to conclude that he is, in fact, his normal self again. Barry’s relieved. He can go back to his normal life as the Flash. He tries to.

On his first day back, he has a much-needed family dinner, though it feels different somehow. He looks at Iris curled up beside Eddie and doesn’t feel the searing pang of jealousy, nor does his mind come up with what-if’s and maybe’s that involve them together. He sees the two of them together, and he’s happy for the both of them. Deep down, there's still a hole in his chest that he badly wants to fill, but he doesn’t feel like Iris is the right person to do so anymore. Maybe it's just him growing up.

A few times, he catches Joe studying him with a critical eye, as if Barry is hiding something—which he isn’t. He's been honest through every rapid-fire questioning: yes, he remembers everything that happened; yes, he acted like an idiot; yes, he's back to normal and wants to continue his regular life; yes, he _really_ remembers what happened and no, he doesn't _care_ what Snart is doing _so will you please stop hounding me, Joe?_

Yet, Joe still tries to get Barry to talk about the meta—but Barry immediately shuts down. He knows they’re still trying to track her ever since she made off with the diamond, and it’ll be any day now that she lets her guard down, but Barry doesn’t think describing his spelled state would be of use to the case.

It’s just Joe being Joe. He doesn’t need to know about the phantom pain in Barry’s chest, or the heaviness in his heart, or the nausea in his stomach.

It’ll go away.

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It doesn’t go away.

Barry dreams of glacier eyes and warm hands.

The pain in his chest gets worse.

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.

It was supposed to be simple.

The antidote was supposed to make everything go away. Instead, all Barry feels is sick, like his insides are fighting against him. He spends his free time lying in bed. He doesn’t see the interest in going outside. He ignores the calls from his family and friends.

It’s only when the pain is strong enough to make his eyes well up that he seeks help from Cisco.

“The antidote didn’t work,” says Barry, in lieu of a greeting. He’s frustrated and taking it out on his team, he knows, but he can’t _do_ this anymore. He feels hollow. He feels _empty._ “I need you to fix me.”

Cisco cocks an eyebrow from where he’s sitting in the cortex, chip halfway to his mouth. Dropping it back into the bag, he sits up. “What are you talking about?”

“It didn’t work,” hisses Barry, palming at the pain in his temple.

“Are you doubting my genius-ness?” questions Cisco, looking offended. “I gave you the antidote, Barr. It worked.”

Barry sighs. “Well, something went wrong, Cisco. I still feel it in my chest.”

“Feel what?”

“ _Him_ ,” Barry growls, feeling like he’s just tasted acid. “I can’t even get rid of him—after all he’s done to us.”

Cisco pauses for a moment, twirling a pen in his hand and looking far too put-together for this conversation. “You mean: after all he’s done _for_ us?”

It takes Barry a second to understand Cisco’s words, but when he does, he’s dumbfounded. He has absolutely no words.

Cisco sighs, though it sounds like an exasperated groan. “Look, I’m sorry, Barr. I’ve been trying to give you your space to let you deal with it and all that, but you’re being ridiculous and handling this terribly.”

A few choked sounds escape from Barry’s throat. “I-I’m ridiculous? He was working with the meta! They _stole_ the diamond!”

“He wasn’t working with her,” defends Cisco. “If you had just given him a second before you kicked him out, you would’ve known!”

“Known _what?_ ”

“That he didn’t steal the real diamond!”

Silence.

“What.” Barry is still. “What did you just say.”

“It was a fake diamond, Barry,” says Cisco, more controlled now. “He was baiting the meta.”

Barry stops for a moment. He inhales and exhales slowly before holding up a shaky finger. “You didn’t think to mention that?”

“I tried to stop you—”

“You didn’t _tell_ me the plan?”

“It was a need-to-know basis—”

“We’re a team!” Barry explodes, his voice echoing in the cortex. “We’re a team, Cisco, and you _lied_ to me!”

“We may have withheld some aspects of the truth,” Cisco corrects furiously, “because you weren’t exactly in the right headspace to be making critical decisions, Barry! You let the meta escape the first time! Remember that?”

A phantom pang of jealousy stabs through his chest. Barry shakes it off, jaw clenched. “That wasn’t me!”

“That _was_ you, Barry!”

“So now this is my fault?”

Cisco holds a hand up. “I didn’t say that, but yes!”

They glare at each other for a long moment, until Barry finally shakes his head in disbelief.

“I can’t believe this,” mutters Barry, turning to leave. “I can’t believe you’re siding with someone like Cold.”

Cisco rolls his eyes dramatically. “You’re only this upset because he’s actually a good person.”

Barry stops dead in his tracks. “I’m sorry—you’re saying this about the man who abducted you and your brother?”

“No, I’m saying this about the man who saved our lives,” Cisco roars back. He advances while Barry flinches back. “The man who let you into his home and took care of you. The man who always put you before himself, despite where that’s gotten him now. The man who’s had the chance to tear apart the town multiple times but has chosen not to. The man who chose to help the very people who tried to put him in jail. _That_ man, Barry.”

Barry presses a palm to his own chest, feeling the erratic beat of his heart. Every word slices through him like a knife, and his breath comes in quick gasps as memories flicker into his brain—cocky grins, warm hands, genuine laughter.

Barry catches himself on the railing as he stumbles backwards. Cisco’s watching him with wide eyes as Barry barely contains a choked cry. It hurts. It _hurts_.

“Barry—” Cisco starts.

“Fix me, Cisco!” Barry cries, clutching at his shirt. “Fix me!”

Barry is stilled by an iron grip to his shoulders. “There’s nothing to fix, Barry!” Cisco shakes him gently. “It’s gone. The meta’s spell is gone.”

“Then why does it—”

“The effects are gone,” Cisco says slowly. He stares at Barry meaningfully.

“Then why does it hurt?” he demands, breaking out of Cisco’s grasp. “Why does my chest feel like it’s caving in? Why does my heart feel like it’s being strangled? Why is his smile the only thing I can ever _see_ anymore—!”

Cisco’s gaze doesn’t waver, though his lips are turning down sadly. “I think you know the answer to that.”

“I don’t,” whispers Barry, his voice cracking.

“You still love him, Barry,” Cisco continues quietly, “don’t you?”

Barry doesn’t reply.

It isn’t possible. Len— _Snart_ is a criminal. He’s hurt people before, and he’s going to continue hurting people. He’s a thief. He’s stealthy, cunning, too smart for his own good. He… shops at farmer’s markets on Sunday mornings, he takes his coffee black as night because he thinks it makes him look tougher, he’s capable of the kind of love that is blinding.

“I need you to fix me,” Barry begs one last time, barely audible even in the silent cortex.

Cisco slowly shakes his head. “I can’t fix a broken heart, Barry.”

Barry’s breath comes quicker, panic setting in. He can’t—no, he _won’t_ let himself fall down this rabbit hole.

So Barry does what he does best. He runs.

He runs until Cisco’s calls are only echoes.

He runs until his legs are burning with exhaustion, past the field where he once made a flower crown, past the empty lot that once held the traveling carnival, past the dark streets that he’d walk down with his hand on another. He runs until Central City is far behind him, merely a glow of city lights in the foreground of a lowly hanging moon.

When Barry finally stops, there are no sounds aside from the waves crashing on a shore nearby and the rustle of trees around him. He doubles over from exhaustion, but yelps when he realizes his sneakers are on fire. Hastily shrugging off his sweater, he bats at the small embers until they vanish. Barry stares at his blackened sneakers, panting. A frustrated yell escapes his lips before he tosses his jacket out into the darkness.

Barry drops to his knees, utterly exhausted. The pain in his chest has only grown stronger, and he claws at it to make it stop, but it does nothing.

He slumps forward, burying half his face in one hand as he shakes his head in self-pity. Of all people, it had to be _him._ It had to be Leonard Snart.

The wind picks up, causing him to shiver. When Barry opens his eyes again, he finds a small rectangle, tumbling down the pavement toward him. It catches on some gravel before its flimsy form glides over to Barry.

He peers down cautiously before he picks it up to read. In front of a white background, his own handwriting is scrawled on the back. It reads: _BA+LS forever!_

Barry’s heart jumps in realization. He hesitates before he flips it over.

It’s the photoset from the booth at the carnival, Barry realizes with a sharp inhale. It seems like ages have passed since that night. The man in the photo may look like Barry, but it isn’t him. Yet… yet, Barry can remember the warmth in his cheeks as he clutched the ridiculous bear to his chest. He can remember the fluttering in his stomach as he was pressed up against the other man, and the jolt to his heart when their lips had met.

Barry thumbs over the smile on Len’s face. He hadn’t seen a genuine smile from the man before—at least, not one unaccompanied by his usual cocksure smirk. He looks happy here. They both do.

Barry’s eyes trail down to the last photo, mere seconds after their kiss. He can hardly believe the expression on his own face, but it’s the look on Len’s that causes him to inhale sharply.

Len… He looks utterly smitten. The amount of adoration in his eyes, the soft surprise on his lips, the light coloring of his cheeks—it sends a jolt through Barry’s veins, wraps around his heart like a warm blanket.

Barry flips the photo over again, blinking rapidly to dislodge the moisture building up. It’s at this moment that he sees something he had overlooked at first glance.

There, at the bottom corner, is a note handwritten with the precision he’s only seen on laid out heist plans. It’s tiny, the letters carefully shaped, but it’s there.  

_Love of my life._

Barry swallows. Then, he swallows again. His throat clicks as he struggles to discern whatever he’s feeling, and he startles himself when a strangled sob escapes him.

It’s like the dam breaks after that.

He can’t stop himself.

He can’t stop the sobs bubbling out of him, can’t stop the tears welling up in his eyes, can’t stop them from streaming down his cheeks. His throat feels raw as he hiccups, trying to breathe through the sobs spilling from him.

It’s as if everything he had pushed down is suddenly fighting back against him, exploding out of him in a force that makes his heart and skin and veins throb.

He feels utterly pathetic, clutching an old photo to his chest as tears dot his jeans. There’s no one to hear him for miles out, no one to judge him but the crash of the waves on the shore and wind roaring overhead. He thinks the worst part of it all is that he can remember everything. He can remember the shaky beginning, the inevitable end, and everything in between. He remembers begging the man to try once it’s over, and then telling him to get lost before he could even explain himself. He remembers the tight embraces, the raw confessions, the sworn promises.

Barry stays sitting for a long time. Eventually, the wind has chilled him to the bone enough that he gets on his shaky legs to retrieve his discarded jacket. He looks out into the dark waves once he’s shrugged it on, burrowing into the warmth of his hood.

He tucks the photo inside his jacket, right next to his heart—where it should be, where it’s always been.

x

Len is content to never leave his bed again.

Of course, like everything good in his life, his plans are ruined by his sister. He hadn’t even heard her come in, which speaks volumes of how hard he’s letting himself slip.

“Rise and shine, jackass!” Lisa crows.

The curtain is ripped open and Len howls in pain as his corneas are scorched. He blinks through his glare and finds Lisa standing over him with her hands on her hips. His head is throbbing, and his throat is dry when he tries to swallow.

“What the hell, Lise?” Len croaks out.

“Don’t ‘what the hell’ me,” she hisses back. She points a sharp finger at him. “Do you know what time it is? Actually, do you know what _day_ it is?”

Len squints at her in reply.

Lisa releases a long-suffering sigh. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Len scowls before burrowing deeper into his sheets. His voice comes out muffled. “I _was_ sleeping.”

“No, you were sulking. Pathetically sulking.” She huffs, wrinkling her nose at the state of his room. “You send me a text, saying you and Barry are through and that’s it? No explanation whatsoever?”

“What more do you need?” Len snaps. “We’re done. Simple as that.”

“How about an explanation of what the hell _happened_ that night—”

“He hates me, Lise! He _hates_ me, okay? It’s that simple!”

Lisa doesn’t even flinch at his volume. “It’s never that simple, Lenny.”

Aggravated, Len flings the sheets off him and sits up. Though, he regrets it when he remembers what he’d been hiding under there.

Lisa’s scowling at him until she catches sight on the ceramic plate tucked beside his hip. They both stare at it in silence.

“Don’t,” starts Len in warning.

Lisa has already deflated. “You damn sap, Lenny,” she sighs.

“Pretend you didn’t see this,” he says sternly, tucking the plate into his nightstand drawer.

Lisa shakes her head solemnly. Her eyes flicker around the room, studying the destruction around them. “Oh, Lenny…” She sits at the edge of the bed. “What happened?”

Len scowls determinedly at his lap before he shakes his head. “I fucked up,” he starts quietly. Then, he explains to her his _genius_ plan that drove Barry out of his life for good, and how he’s been a mess ever since. Lisa listens to him silently, nodding when he pauses to sigh.

Lisa raises a gentle hand, only to ball it into a fist and swing it down onto his arm.

Len yelps, while Lisa winds up again. “Idiot!” she hisses. “You great—big—idiot!” Three more punches land on his arm before Len thinks to dodge them.

“I know, all right?” he defends, holding his throbbing arm. “I know it’s my fault. I should have let him in on the plan.”

“That’s not why I’m mad.” Lisa scowls at him. “It’s because you didn’t fight for him.”

“ _What?_ I—”

“You didn’t fight for him! You accepted defeat without even trying.”

Len’s jaw drops in shock, in disbelief. “Are you seri—”

“You may have done what you had to make sure the plan went smoothly,” Lisa continues, powering over him, “but when it came down to the end, you left without a word. You left without a fight. Are you so blind that you don’t see that he tried to drive you away, not because he hates you, but because he was hurt? Because he thought you betrayed him when you didn’t.”

“We’re criminals, Lise,” he reminds her. “I was only prolonging the inevitable.”

“We’re people capable of change,” she corrects him sadly. “After all, you could have kept the real diamond and pinned it on the meta. Yet…”

“What makes you think I still won’t do that?”

“Because you’re here, wallowing over a boy instead of calling the rogues to plan a new heist.”

Len sighs. “You know, I hate when you’re right.”

“I know.”

“You always get a big head about it.”

“You love me anyway.” Lisa grins.

Len snorts fondly. “Yeah, I guess I do.”

“Now go shower. You smell terrible.”

“I take it back,” says Len as Lisa shoves him towards the bathroom. He notices that the glass has been cleaned up and the drawers are propped back in. Lisa shoves a towel into his arms before she pulls the door shut behind her.

Len spends a good thirty minutes in the shower, scrubbing all the sweat and grime off his body before he begins picking at the scabs on his knuckles just to watch the fresh blood wash away under the hot spray. He shuts the water off and brushes his teeth quickly, though he puts off shaving because he doesn’t want to open the drawer in fear of seeing whether or not Lisa threw away the other man’s things. He doesn’t know which outcome he’d prefer.

He quickly wobbles to his room for a fresh change of clothes, and then he joins Lisa where she’s rearranging the dining furniture. She doesn’t say anything about the mess while they clean, which Len is grateful for. They work with the TV humming in the background, fixed on a local news channel.

It’s only when Len has finished putting the last of the broken glass in the trash when he sees the TV flicker red. Lisa immediately turns up the volume.

“—For those of you tuning in, there is an ongoing manhunt for the meta-human known as Cupid,” Iris West reports. “Civilians are being told to stay indoors and if she is spotted, do not engage her for she is considered extremely dangerous. Cupid escaped police custody around two this afternoon after the CCPD recovered dozens of stolen artifacts and gems from her hideout. If anyone has seen this meta-human, please do not hesitate to call and—”

A ringing in Len’s ears interrupts the newscast. His eyes stare blankly at the grainy picture of the meta’s face until he feels Lisa shaking him.

Len slumps forward to drop his face into his hands. “She’s gonna go after him,” he croaks quietly. “She’s gonna go after Barry.”

“Hold on—why would she do that?”

“She knows I set her up.” Len shoots to his feet, beelining to his room to snatch the cold gun from under his pillow.

“Lenny—wait, where are you going?” comes Lisa’s distant voice, still in the living room.

“I’m going to stop her,” Len says, digging through his clothes for his parka.

“ _Alone?_ You’re not doing this alone!”

“I have to!”

Lisa stops him before he can swing open the door. “I’m coming along. Barry means a lot to me, too.”

Len growls, staring her down, but her glare is unwavering. Finally, Len relents. “Inform the rogues. We’re taking the bike.”

x

The buildings blur beside him as he zips through the city with Lisa clinging to him, trying to desperately come up with where the meta may be hiding. She can’t possibly know where Barry lives, but it isn’t hard to find out if she knows who to threaten. Another place is the CCPD headquarters, though Len doubts she can be so foolish to stand against so many cops.

“How’s it looking out there?” Len asks.

From his comms, Hartley’s voice replies, “Avoid the highway, take the streets. There’s a police block-off on north- and southbound.”

“Roger. Mick, Shawna? Any sign of her?”

Shawna replies first. “I’m doing my rounds, but she hasn’t come by.”

“Mick?” Len prompts. There is no answer. “ _Mick._ ”

“He’s tailing the meta through downtown,” comes through the comms.

Len nods before he realizes the voice sounds nothing like Hartley.

“Cisco?” Len demands. “The hell are you doing on my comms?”

“First of all, you guys need to make the connection harder to hack,” says Cisco. In the background, Hartley scoffs.

“I’ll have you know that the only reason I’m not kicking you off the server is because I care more about Len and his lover than I do of you.”

Someone chokes on the line; Len thinks it might be him. Lisa barks out a laugh.

“Ah, something we can actually agree with,” Cisco says. “You’ve got us at your disposal, too.”

“’Us’?” asks Len, his stomach churning.

“Me as well,” Caitlin’s voice replies. “Nice to see you’re still up and kicking.”

“Dr. Snow,” he says courteously.

“Caitlin,” she corrects, “unless you would rather I call you Leonard.”

“Caitlin,” Len says quickly.

“Good, now that we’re all acquainted again—I’m tracking Mick through the city’s security cameras,” says Cisco above the tapping of his keyboard. “Go down main street and make a left on 8th. He looks a bit roughed up, and his comms are offline.”

Len follows his directions without question, feeling Lisa’s arms tighten around him as he gains speed. It’s easy to find Mick—he simply follows the destruction and wreckage. Len spots the man slumped against a building for cover.

“Mick!” Lisa calls, scrambling off the bike.

“She’s fast,” Mick growls once they reach him. “I managed to get a few hits, but she broke my heat gun.” He winces sharply as he’s helped to his feet. “Nobody gets to break my gun and get away with it.”

“Get back to Hartley; you’re no use to us dead,” says Len, helping the man back onto his own bike—similar to Len’s, but decorated with obnoxious flames running down the body. Mick snorts, kicking his bike to life.

“Same with you. After all this trouble, you’d better get that boy back in your life or I’ll kick your sorry ass myself.” With that, he’s speeding off.

Before Len can think too hard about how Mick seems to like Barry more than he likes Len, Shawna gasps, “Found her!”

“We need to focus on getting her out of the city—there are too many civilians that may get caught in the crossfire,” says Caitlin. “The coast is not too far down—get her there and it should be easier to tame her without any more casualties.”

“Take the 1, you’ll reach the coast faster that way,” supplies Cisco.

Shawna responds with an affirmative. “Hey, Stupid Cupid!” she hollers. “Catch me if you can!”

Through the comms, the meta’s shriek of rage is easily heard.

Cisco grumbles, “I told you it was a good name…”

“It’s terrible,” they all say.

Len hurries to catch up to Shawna—she isn’t much of a fighter, so knowing she’s engaging the meta leaves him feeling uneasy. She is stealthy, though, so Len has faith that she can successfully corral the meta.

“Shawna, once you can see the coast I need you to retreat and regroup with Mick,” says Len.

“Not when you need my help!”

“We’ve got it under control,” Len insists.

“But—”

With finality, he says, “You’re not getting hurt.”

There’s a tight sigh on the other line before Shawna agrees. “Roger…”

They make it just as the water begins to peek over the roadside before Shawna gasps.

“She bailed,” Shawna says quickly. “I-I don’t know where she went. She was _right_ behind me!”  

As if on cue, Lisa lets out a low whistle. “We’ve got company,” she says.

Len turns his head to find the meta, clothes ashy and feathers frayed, circling the air behind them looking absolutely livid.

“She’s on us now,” Len informs. “Regroup, Shawna.” He doesn’t wait to hear her affirmative before he’s asking Cisco, “What’s our status? How far are we from the coast?”

“Just a few miles out; you’re almost there.”

Len revs the engine and propels forward. They manage down the highway, zipping past the few cars on it, until the meta howls and dives forward. Len swerves as Lisa aims her gun, managing to blast at one of her arms, engulfing it in gold.

“You’ll pay for this, Snart! I know it was you!” she screeches, making a dive for it. Lisa shouts in surprise as the meta latches onto the gold gun. Len tries to shake her off, to no avail. He can’t do much without risking his own and Lisa’s life.

Lisa winds her arm back and swings a right hook across the meta’s face, which succeeds in forcing the meta backwards, but not before she takes a swipe at Lisa.

Lisa yelps in surprise, her grip loosening. She tumbles off the back of the bike before Len can grab her.

“ _Lisa!_ ”

Enraged, Len sends a beam of cold at the meta, forcing her to retreat down the road until she disappears around the bend.

The bike screeches to a stop before he zips back around to his sister’s limp body. He dives next to her, skidding on his knees, and cradles her close.

“Lisa’s down,” Len yells into his comms, busy trying to find her pulse. His comm beeps unhelpfully, properly fried. He rips it out in frustration, flinging it behind him. “You’re gonna be okay, Lise,” he starts, when she suddenly disappears from his arms.

Len cries out, patting the ground where she was a second ago. His heart seizes up, and it’s only then does he realize that he’s not alone.

Barry—no, the Flash, is standing before him.

“She’s at S.T.A.R Labs,” he says, and Len immediately slumps with relief.

Looking up at the man, Len is hit full-force with just how much he misses the other man. Len can’t see much behind the cowl, only his eyes, but even Barry’s gaze skitters away after a short moment. Len picks himself up.

“Thank you,” Len says softly. He has so many things to say to the other man, but they are all so jumbled together in his mind that nothing escapes past his lips. Instead, he nods curtly at the other man’s silence and pulls his bike back upright. “I can handle the meta. You don’t have to worry.”

Before Barry can reply, Len is zipping off. Though, he’s a fool to even think he could outrace the Flash.

The man appears next to him, keeping stride with the motorcycle. “You’re not fighting her alone,” Barry says sternly, easily heard over the roar of the engine and wind.

It occurs to Len at that moment that it feels like their usual encounters as hero and villain, with Len speeding to get away, and Barry easily chasing after him. Just like old times.

“This isn’t your fight, Flash,” he shouts.

“Chasing down criminals is my job, is it not?” Barry barks back. Len feels cold shoot through him before Barry continues with, “The meta’s dangerous to the people of Central City. She needs to be taken down.”

“Something we agree on,” Len drawls.

“So I suppose we have to work together on this one,” Barry continues, not coldly, but not friendly, either. He seems to be feigning indifference.

“Looks like it,” says Len. It seems to him that they are going to ignore recent events, if only for the meantime. Len can deal with that.

“Wait for me by the hill. I’ll go from the left. We’re going to corner her and hopefully talk her into surrendering before any more blood is shed.”

Len cocks an eyebrow. “I doubt reasoning with her is going to do anything. She wants my head, after all. I don’t really blame her.”

“Well, who can?” Barry mutters quietly.

“I'm telling you, it's not going to work,” Len says again.

Barry looks like he’s going to argue, but just shakes his head and speeds off.

It isn’t even five minutes later that Barry is tossed from god-knows-where, skidding through the dirt nearly twenty feet before he stops.

“What did I say?” shouts Len, running to cover Barry as the meta flies overhead. He fires at the meta as she loops through the sky, dodging the beams roughly. He turns to extend his hand to Barry.

Barry stares at the proffered hand for a long moment before he seems to remember he’s in the midst of a battle. “Not all of us are as pessimistic as you,” Barry shoots back. He doesn’t accept the help, gets to his feet on his own, and Len ignores the pang in his chest in favor of firing more shots at the meta.

“Yeah, well, being pessimistic has saved my life on more occasions than one,” Len growls.

“And look where that’s gotten you.”

Len misses his shot by ten feet, and if Barry notices, he doesn’t mention it.

“Look, if you're going to hate me, at least do it after we win, all right?” is all Len can say to that.

Barry grips Len’s arm and tugs roughly. He narrowly avoids a thick branch to the eye. Cupid must be getting desperate if she's resorting to breaking off branches from the trees to use as projectiles.

“I don't…” Barry still has his hand wrapped around Len’s arm. “I don't hate you.”

Len hates how the only thing he can focus on is the warmth of Barry’s skin, how the simple touch seems to electrify all his nerve endings.

“I wouldn't blame you if you did,” says Len quietly.

Barry lets his hand fall away. “I know you wouldn't,” he replies in a voice just as small. “I don't. I could never.”

Those simple words are enough to knock the breath out of Len’s lungs. He doesn't think he heard right, wants to hear it again, a dozen times over, but now is not the time or place for him to lose his head.

“After this is over… I need to tell you some things, if you're willing to listen.” It isn't really how Len wanted to say it—with an enraged meta human flinging sticks and stones at them from above—but he doesn't want to waste any more time.

Barry looks at him with those eyes of his, huge and encompassing, like Len could fall in if he gazed too long. “After this is over,” Barry says.

The meta can’t possibly fly forever, not with the injuries she’s sporting, so Len just has to wear her out. Barry continues to try to gain some leverage to her by running up the sides of the boulders and trees, but it’s useless when she is so high in the air.

“Can you do that wind tunnel thing with your arms?” Len asks. Barry makes a face at the name, but complies. He looks utterly ridiculous doing so, but Len figures mentioning that will earn him a one-way ticket straight to prison.

“It’s working,” says Barry, surprise evident in his voice. The wind knocks the meta off balance, and she struggles to remain upright in her flight.

Len thinks it’s almost over—the meta is visibly tiring; her wings are sagging, and she’s clutching the arm that had been hit by Lisa’s gold gun and not even making an effort to dodge the cold gun anymore.

Of course, it was wrong of Len to underestimate a desperate meta.

She screeches again—Len is really tired of hearing that sound—before spinning roughly, sending one of Barry’s wind tunnels right back at him. It knocks into his chest and sends the man flat on his back.

In a last-ditch effort, the meta dives right for Barry, who’s still dazed from the fall. Len doesn’t think, just throws himself in front of the other man and braces for impact.

Len expects the meta to claw his face to ribbons or run him through with a piece of nature—he doesn’t expect her to grab him in a chokehold and proceed to drag him up the cliff. He fights her as best as he can, but his cold gun had been left on the ground, far away from him.

Cupid lands with a loud thump at the very top of the hill, mere feet away from the edge of the cliff. Down below them, the waves crash loudly against the boulders and rocks.

“Stop right there, Flash,” the meta hisses when the red streak blurs by. “One more step and we both go down this cliff. I can fly. _He_ can’t.”

Barry stills immediately. The silence is tense as Len calculates their options. He's relieved to see that Barry had grabbed his cold gun, and is now holding it in a tight grip.

“Shoot me!” Len shouts to Barry, before the meta tightens her hold and cuts the air from his throat until he’s wheezing.

Barry takes a step forward, but the meta takes a matching one back, pulling them both closer to the edge.

“You’re going to let us go, Flash,” she tells him.

Barry growls. “What are you going to do with him?”

“Ah, brilliant mind like his? I wouldn’t mind a partner in crime… despite his traitorous tendencies.” She drags a sharp nail down the side of his face almost lovingly.

“Let him go, and we can work out a deal,” says Barry calmly.

The meta laughs cruelly. “It appears that you are quite popular, Snart.” She tugs back teasingly just to hear Len choke.

“Let him go!” Barry snarls, aiming the cold gun at her.

“What are you going to do? Shoot us?”  the meta asks, eyes narrowing. “You don't have the guts, honey.”

“Shoot me!” Len wheezes out. “Do it!”

“Quiet!” the meta hisses, tightening her hold.

The distress is clear on Barry’s face, but Len recognizes the movement. Barry’s foot turns slightly, his eyes narrow, and he takes in a deep breath.

He pulls the trigger.

With all his strength, Len pivots his body, throwing the meta behind him as he’s faced with the open water and hundred feet drop.

Cupid yowls as the beam strikes her wings, engulfing them in ice. She releases him enough that Len can swing an elbow around, knocking her to the ground. Her body falls limp against the dirt.

Len’s ears are ringing from the blast, but it's over. He releases a shaky breath. Barry meets his gaze, looking exactly how Len feels, before offering him a weak smile.

Len is about to return it when he sees the meta’s wings rise shakily, and then slam down into the dirt.

The earth groans below him.

Len only has a second to glance at the crack in the dirt separating him and the meta before the earth crumbles and he’s falling backwards through the air.

He hears Barry shout his name before his body connects with a boulder on the way down, forcing a shout from his lips. He can practically feel his ribs shatter.

His body continues tumbling down, rocks slamming into him until he’s numb all over. His vision spins and he can only hear the wind whipping around him until he lands headfirst in the water with a muted splash.

It’s dark under the water. He knows he should try to reach the surface for air, but he can’t make his arms or legs move. He feels suspended, slowly suffocating. It's cold down here.

Arms wrap tightly around him, and he’s being tugged upward toward the surface.

When they break through the surface, he tries to take in the oxygen, but finds that he can’t. Through his half-lidded eyes, he sees the open horizon above the water as he’s dragged to shore, though everything is blurry. He doesn't have the strength to keep his eyes open anymore. He slips them shut.

Somewhere amongst the roaring in his ears, he hears Barry’s frantic voice.

“—ay with me, come on, breathe,” Barry’s begging. “Caitlin, Cisco, what do I do? _Tell me what to do!_ ”

Hands find his chest to press down, and Len feels water expel itself from his throat, but—

He still can’t open his eyes. Why won’t they—?

“Please, Len,” Barry begs. “Come on, open your eyes…”

Len’s trying. He’s trying…

He wants to—wants to see Barry’s face again, not hidden under his cowl. He wants to see the freckles across the bridge of his nose and the few that dot his cheeks. He wants to see the curve of his cheekbones and the perpetual blush that rests on them. If not forever, then at least one more time...

But he can’t.

Sounds are becoming less distinct. His body feels cold.

“You idiot,” sobs Barry, clutching at his shirt. “I still love you.”

Len’s hands stay limp against the sand despite wanting to hold him. His lips don’t move despite wanting to say it back.

“I love you,” cries Barry, over and over, and it’s with those words that Len lets himself drop into the darkness.


	12. Chapter 12

It’s like a dream: being dead.

There’s a lot of darkness, like the lightbulb’s been burned out, except it’s never ending. There’s no click into awareness. There’s just the slow drift into fuzzy coherence. Len thinks he might be floating, but he can’t be sure. He can’t feel his body, even if he tries to flex his fingers and toes. It’s as if his brain is disconnected from the rest of him.

There are voices sometimes.

The voices are faint, and though they don't make much sense to him, they still provide a certain comfort. It isn’t as lonely.

Time doesn't feel like it exists here; Len’s been floating in a haze of semi-consciousness for what seems like days. He doesn't remember how he got here.

He hopes he remembers soon.

x

Len hears a lot of things before he can see. He hears a distant, steady beeping. He hears the crinkle of pages turning. He hears familiar humming, something that reminds him of freshly baked cookies and warm hands. His heart twinges as he struggles to remember the face behind the song.

The beeping noise quickens, and the humming abruptly stops. The memories leave Len so quickly it feels as if they’ve been ripped away from him. His fingers twitch in an attempt to grasp it no matter how futile it may be. It’s at that moment he feels how cold his hands are. It’s strange; he doesn't think he's supposed to be able to feel anything at all.

Len focuses on trying to move his fingers again. It takes all his concentration and effort, but he thinks he manages a tick in his index finger. It’s silent aside for the beeping, calmer now. The anxiety in him grows with every passing second.

He thinks he's done something wrong—scared the source of the music away before he's had a chance to listen properly—but then a warmth slowly settles over his hand. It intertwines through his fingers, a reassuring pressure.

The humming starts again.

He's not so cold anymore.

x

When Len opens his eyes for the first time, it takes so much strength that it nearly leaves him breathless. His eyelids feel as if they weigh a hundred pounds, but he tries his hardest to hold them open. White obscures most of his vision, but his surroundings become clearer with every blink. It takes him a long moment to focus his eyes on the figure beside him.

Len didn't think he would make it to heaven, but the angel staring right back at him proves otherwise. The angel looks a lot like Barry, but it feels wrong because angels aren't supposed to cry.

The tears in Barry’s eyes only thicken the longer Len silently gazes at him.

The other man is so close to him, Len can almost reach out to touch him, but his hands are no longer cooperating. He can barely focus his eyes long enough to see the movement of Barry’s lips, though the words sound unintelligible to his ears.

Maybe this is his own personal hell—having Barry so close to him but never being able to reach out to see if he's real or part of his imagination.

Barry comes even closer, eyes widening, before Len feels exhaustion begin to take him again. It falls like a dark curtain, obscuring the color of Barry’s eyes before he can see its true depth.

Len hopes he’s real.

 x

It must be sometime during the night the next time he opens his eyes, because the lights are dimmed and the room around him is dark.

“Y’still here,” Len manages to croak out, but his words are slurred from misuse.

Barry looks startled from where he had been on his tablet. He practically throws the thing aside and scrambles to his feet. “You’re awake,” says Barry, the words sounding punched out of him. “You—you’re…”

Len watches in horror as the other man’s eyes well up.

“Hey,” Len rasps weakly. “Don’t cry. Please…”

“I’m not crying,” Barry sniffles, turning his face to swipe at his eyes.

“S’okay…”

“I just—there's something in my eye,” Barry mutters. “Idiot.”

“S’more like it,” Len murmurs with a faint smile. He chuckles softly, but is suddenly hit with an onslaught of chest wracking coughs. He nearly blacks out from the pain in his ribs, his breaths shortening as air is denied from his lungs.

Caitlin immediately rushes in at Barry’s panicked calls. Len’s too busy trying to suck in air to see what the doctor is doing, but she frantically taps away at the machines beside him before pressing an oxygen mask to his face.

Len greedily takes in the artificial air until he can breathe properly, then he finally slumps back into his pillow. He doesn’t hear what Caitlin says, but he watches through half-lidded eyes as Barry takes her place in holding the mask to his face. Len doesn’t take his eyes off the other man, and Barry shortly meets his gaze. They stare silently at each other for a long moment.

Barry raises his free hand, hesitating mid-air, before he cups Len’s cheek. His fingers are warm against Len’s skin, and Len lets a content sigh escape him. His body feels warmer, fuzzier, but it’s most likely the morphine taking effect.

Len turns his head slightly until Barry raises the mask so he can speak.

“S’this a dream?” Len murmurs, his tired eyes searching.

Barry looks at him, eyebrows furrowing, before he shakes his head with a sad smile.

“You’re always in my dreams,” confesses Len.

Barry drops his gaze, his hand slipping from Len’s cheek. It’s silent again.

Len thinks he’s said another thing wrong, but then Barry’s hand find Len’s. He squeezes meaningfully and doesn’t let go.

“This isn’t a dream,” Barry assures him before gently replacing the mask.

With their hands laced together, it sure feels like one… but he'll take it.

x

The next time Len opens his eyes, there's a metal flashlight an inch away from his cornea.

His heartbeat spikes, startled, before the flashlight moves away and Caitlin’s face pops into his view.

“Sorry, I didn't think you would be awake,” she murmurs. “I was just checking your pupillary reactions. May I continue?”

Len stares at her, confused. The doctor waits patiently. “Barry?”

Caitlin sighs before offering a small smile. “He's catching up on some sleep in the other room. Doctor’s orders.”

“Is he… okay?”

Caitlin fiddles with the flashlight where she’d dropped it into her lap. She looks to be struggling with the right words. “I think… he's okay, now that you are.”

Len nods slowly. “Was I not okay before?”

Caitlin’s eyes are downcast when she answers. “You have a pierced lung and some fractured ribs. Sprained wrist, cuts, bruises, the stitches of your bullet wound ripped back open. You were unconscious for a few days there; it was worrying.”

“I’m awake,” murmurs Len.

“That you are,” Caitlin says with a small smile. “You still have some head trauma, so be prepared to be here for a little while longer.”

Len’s just glad to be alive. “And Lisa?”

“She is fine. Already up and about before you were brought here. She said something about speaking with the rogues… Now, will you let me run my tests?”

Len nods silently.

Caitlin gets to work, but Len’s eyes are on the wall, staring as if he could see the man on the other side.

x

That night, Len awakes from a nightmare, yelling so loudly he can feel the words scrape against his throat. His ribs flare in pain when he bolts upright, and he struggles to catch his breath with his body protesting every movement of his heaving chest.

The lights flicker on before Caitlin comes running into the room, still dressed in her sleepwear. “ _Len?_ ”

“Is he—Is he—?” Len gasps, just as Barry dashes in the room.

“What's wrong?” Barry demands frantically. “Are you—”

He's cut off as Len wraps his arms around Barry’s waist and pulls him close.

“You’re okay,” croaks Len, pressing his face into the warmth and safety of Barry’s chest. “Thank god you're okay…”

Barry stands, stunned above him.

Len tries to push away the bloody images to the back of his mind, but it's hard because the Barry in his nightmare was unmoving, and his Barry is still as a statue, and—and—fuck—

“Hey,” Barry murmurs, returning the embrace. He holds Len to his chest, thumb rubbing soothingly against the nape of his neck. “It’s okay. Just a nightmare.”

Len’s breath shudders out of him, unable to speak.

“I'm okay,” says Barry softly. “We’re okay.”

Len doesn’t release Barry until his arms feel weak from the extra morphine Caitlin had administered before she left them be. Still, Len hangs on until Barry gently guides him down so his head hits the pillow. He disentangles himself from Len’s hold.

“Barry,” Len says weakly. “I…”

There are so many things he wants to say, but he can’t think right now. The morphine’s swirling his thoughts around his brain, rendering him useless in his confessions. He can’t piece together his apology correctly, and he knows it will come out wrong if he tries. Len shakes his head lightly.

“It’s not okay,” says Len. _Because it’s Len’s fault_ goes unsaid, but it is heard clearly.

Barry’s gaze slips away. “It’s not okay,” admits Barry quietly. He settles on his usual seat at Len’s bedside, curling up into himself. “… but I think it will be.”

Len wants to reply, but he’s already slipping under.

x

It takes Len a long time to formulate his thoughts correctly. When he’s finally ready to speak, his throat closes and the heart monitor beside him quickens noticeably.

The noise causes Barry to glance up from where he’s been reading his lab reports for the past two hours—two hours in which Len spent at war inside his mind. He even requested that Caitlin lay off the morphine for today, willing to endure the ache in his bones for a few moments of steady coherency.

“I’m so sorry, Barry,” says Len quietly.

Barry, as expected, doesn’t say a word. Len continues, keeping his gaze on his lap because he doesn’t think he’d be able to continue with those eyes staring him down.

“I know that probably doesn’t mean anything. I owe you more than an apology; I owe you an explanation. So here goes…

There are… so many things I have done wrong. I don’t even know where to begin. I’m not going to try to justify my actions with how I was brought up. I’m not going to blame anyone but myself because I know this is my fault. Lisa’s always telling me that I have a terrible habit of doing the wrong things for the right reasons, and I guess she’s right, but that’s no excuse.

Before this mess even started, before I knew Barry Allen, I used to be obsessed with the thrill of the chase, of the adrenaline that comes with risky heists. When the Flash came to be, I only chased that feeling harder. Finally, a worthy opponent… You were my greatest foe, y’know. You could keep up with me like no one ever could, and I liked that—maybe a little too much. I don't know exactly when it became less about the thrill and more about how intriguing you were to me.

When you were struck by Cupid, I didn’t know what to think. Two different parts of me were at war with each other. The part that viewed you as an opponent and the part that saw how well we went together were forced to reconcile. And I started to fall for you. Honestly, how could I not? You were the one struck by Cupid, yet I was the one who fell the hardest.

Things were going so well for us, despite how we got there. It was only a matter of time before I ruined everything. Cupid knew just how to get to me—by threatening your safety. I couldn’t let her do that. I thought I could do this on my own, keep the ones I care about safe while I deal with the mess, as usual… but that backfired spectacularly. I thought I could keep you safe from danger, but it turns out I was the one who hurt you more than any arrow ever could.

The last thing I wanted to do was hurt you, and I did. I broke your trust when you gave it to me so freely. I don’t know if you can ever forgive me for that, and I don't blame you if you never do.

I let you down. So many times. I’m a criminal, Barry, but I don’t want to lie anymore. I don’t want to hurt you anymore. I am just so used to doing things alone. But that’s the thing. I don't… I don’t want to be alone anymore. I don't want to know what it feels like to lose someone. Not again.

You’re better than me. You’ve always been better than me, because you know what matters most, what matters during the dead of the night when sleep is unlikely. You… love with your entire being, even with someone as undeserving as me.

You always told me that you knew there was good in me. I didn't want to believe you, but you never wavered. You always believed in me, even when I gave you countless reasons not to. I hope that hasn’t changed.”

Len takes a deep breath, trying to calm the thundering beat of his heart. “I care about you, so much,” says Len, clutching tightly at the sheets. He swallows thickly. “More than that, actually. I… I can't stop thinking about you. You’re all I see when my eyes are closed, and all I want to see when they are open. You’re the light I need when my world is dark. The air I breathe when my words get stuck… I would do anything to keep you safe: take a bullet, take a fall, anything. You’re everything I need and more… God, Barry, I… I'm in love with you.”

Len hears Barry inhale sharply, but he doesn’t dare look up just yet.

“I realize it's a bit unconventional, how we got here, but that doesn't change my feelings for you. That doesn't change how right I feel you are for me…”

Len finally risks a glance up, the silence too deafening for his ears. Barry looks overwhelmed with emotion—which one, Len cannot tell since there seems to be a battle for dominance amongst many. A sinking feeling begins in the pit of his stomach.

“You don't need to say it,” Len continues softly. “You don't need to say anything. I understand if—if things changed. I just… I wanted you to know. I wanted you to hear me say it so there's no doubt in your mind how I feel about you, Barry Allen. I love you. I will always love you... I hope that's okay.”

Barry doesn’t speak. Len waits, prepared to give the man all the time in the world despite how every second tightens the knot in his chest further. The silence in the air hangs heavy like a curtain. His last words seem to float in the empty space around them.

An eternity passes before the other man speaks, his lips parting delicately.

“Love of my life,” is all Barry whispers, barely audible.

But it's enough. It's more than enough.

Len slowly pulls Barry’s hand to his lips and presses a gentle kiss to his knuckles. It's a promise they both understand without any more words.

x

The pit in Len’s stomach doesn't feel so deep anymore. The knot of anxiety in his chest has loosened considerably. He feels better than he has in a long time—physical wounds aside.

Speaking of, Len gets an earful from Caitlin for straining his ribs the night before, when he stayed curled protectively around Barry during their sleep in the shared recovery bed. It was innocent as can be, but Caitlin is extremely adamant about strict recovery procedures, so Len doesn't argue. Much.

Ever since Len’s nightmare, Barry refuses to let Len be alone when the sky turns dark. Len tries to insist that it's fine, but Barry is nothing if not determined (and stubborn).

Thus, movie nights are born. Barry rearranges secondhand couches in a large semi-circle in one of the old workshops cleared out specifically for this purpose. A massive flat-screen adorns the south wall, and the curtains are pulled shut to ensure a movie theater environment.

Len can’t quite walk on his own without limping, but Barry is happy to help. He guides Len to the L of the sectional sofa where he’s able to prop his feet up, before leaving to gather some supplies.

“You don’t have to—” Len starts, before Barry tosses a pillow at his face, effectively shutting him up. The pillow is quickly followed by a knit blanket that Barry takes great care in tucking around Len.

Being outside of the recuperation room is like a breath of fresh air to Len. He doesn’t feel as claustrophobic; he feels like a weight has been lifted off him.

Cisco and Caitlin soon discover Barry’s project, and they don’t look all too opposed to a relaxing night in. They fight over the movie titles, but ultimately, Cisco wins with his choice of Back to the Future in a heated game of rock-paper-scissor. To Len’s surprise, Lisa pops in just as they have the popcorn ready, sporting a few butterfly stitches and bruises. She leans over the back of the couch and squeezes Len around the neck so tightly that his voice is strained when he vocalizes his complaints.  

“You did good,” murmurs Lisa simply before she releases him. She ruffles Barry’s hair as the man takes his seat beside Len, popcorn held between them.

“Back to the Future?” Lisa asks with a grin. “One of my favorite movies.”

Cisco practically swoons from his seat on the recliner sofa. Caitlin sits cross-legged on the floor beside him, holding her own bowl of kettle-corn. Lisa plops down at the other end of the sectional couch with her head on the armrest and her feet in Barry’s lap. The movie plays on as Len glances at everyone around the room. It’s simple. Len could get used to this.

Barry ends up falling asleep halfway through the movie with his head pillowed on Len’s shoulder. Even though Len’s arm is going numb, he can’t find it in himself to care.

x

From movie night, comes board game night.

It’s probably their worst idea yet.

Cisco and Caitlin clutch the fake money to their chests, watching as Len and Lisa shout at each other from across the board. Their eyes dart back and forth as if the siblings are playing ping-pong with insults.

Len slams a hand down onto the board, rattling the plastic houses set atop it. “I swear to God, if you buy Park Lane, I'm bringing out the cold gun.” It’s the last one he needs and Lisa _knows_ this.

“I’ll do what I want,” Lisa says, right before she thrusts the colored bills at Barry, who's playing the banker and looking more like a deer in headlights with every passing second.

“Barry,” Len pleads.

“Barry,” Lisa threatens.

Barry tries to hand the bank box to Cisco, who shakes his head rapidly, and then to Caitlin, who feigns a headache that coincidentally prevents her from counting.

After a grueling four-hour game, Lisa wins and Len’s pride has taken a devastating blow. Suffice it to say, the game ends up in the trash.

“You're still my favorite,” Barry murmurs, squeezing his arm.

Len sighs. It was a stupid game, anyway.

x

When the rogues finally get the time and the O-K to visit Len, it isn’t even for him. It's for Barry. Word got around that Barry’s baking is to-die-for, and the rogues never pass up on opportunities to humiliate and tease Len further. It’s the worst. They crowd in the small kitchenette in the next room over, presumably watching Barry bake his famous cookies.

Len’s propped up in the recuperation bed as Caitlin does her scheduled check-up, only able to hear laughter and muffled words. Len wonders what they’re talking about, but then again, he doesn’t think he even wants to know.

Barry finally escapes the rogues long enough to check up on Len in the room he’s currently trapped in with Mick in tow behind him. There’s a giant plate of cookies in Mick’s hands when he enters, though he shows no intention of sharing them.

“Good, you're still alive,” grunts Mick offhandedly while Len stares back at him, incredulous.

“Thanks for the concern,” drawls Len, while Barry stands sheepishly in the corner.

“Oh, I didn't come for you,” Mick assures him, popping another cookie into his mouth. “I came for this little guy right here with the magic hands. These are even better fresh.”

“You're too kind, Mick,” says Barry, waving him off, but he looks delighted.

“Magic hands?” Len prompts as Caitlin passes him a small cup of water for his painkiller. She excuses herself quietly to meet with Cisco for their repair diagnoses.

“They're magic,” explains Mick when Len downs the cup. “But I'm sure _you_ know what I'm talkin’ about.”

Len chokes on his water, sputtering spectacularly as Barry rushes over to bat at his back. All the while, Mick eats his cookies and watches Len’s coughing fit in amusement.

Barry rubs soothing circles into Len’s back until he can speak.

“I’m sure I have no idea,” Len wheezes.

Mick snorts, looking pointedly at Len’s leg.

They all look at the hand Barry still has braced on Len’s thigh, dangerously high. Barry releases him immediately, his cheeks darkening.

“I—the oven needs me,” Barry informs them before practically bolting from the room so fast that Len can feel the air currents change.

“Mick!” Len hisses, shooting him a look.

“What? Don’t tell me you guys haven’t had—”

“We haven’t,” Len cuts in, scowling.

“Explains why you’re so wound up all the time,” says Mick with no shame whatsoever. “So, you takin’ it slow or what?”

Len palms at his temple, trying to sooth the incoming headache. Truth be told, Len doesn’t know where exactly they stand on that matter. He knows they both feel for each other, but Barry hasn’t initiated anything, and Len doesn’t want to rush into anything physical when the emotions of it all is already in a delicate place. “It’s a long story, all right?” Len finally manages.

Mick doesn’t look placated, but he doesn’t pry any more. “Suit yourself. I don’t care so long as the cookies keep coming.”

Len snorts. “’Course you wouldn’t. Now help me up; I need to stretch my legs.”

Mick rolls his eyes, but complies. When Len hobbles into the kitchen, he’s overwhelmed with the scent of sugar in the air. It reminds him of lazy days at the apartment with the TV buzzing in the background.

“Hey, boss,” says Hartley. Len immediately zeroes in on the hand he has on Barry as the man transfers cookies onto a cooling rack. Hartley, seeing that his life is in mortal danger, retracts his hand and slips it safely into his pocket. He side-steps out of the kitchen and goes to inspect the monitors hanging around the room. Smart man.

“Heathens,” Len greets semi-affectionately. He nods at Shawna and Lisa, who are talking animatedly on the new bar stools that look suspiciously like the kind from that high-end bar in downtown. He knows better than to ask. Mick plops down onto the lone couch at the corner, already tuning them out.

“Should you be walking?” asks Shawna, her eyebrows furrowing.

“Nope,” Barry answers for him, already trying to steer him into a chair.

“I’m fine,” Len insists, placing a hand over the one Barry has on his chest. Barry frowns at him, so Len says again, “I’m _fine_. Don’t worry.”

Barry sighs, but relents and returns to the cooling racks. Len follows at his own glacial pace before resting a hand at the small of Barry’s back. Barry leans into the contact, butting his head affectionately against Len’s.

“Sorry about earlier,” Len murmurs, low enough for only the other man to hear.

Barry shakes his head. “It’s nothing,” he says. “I’m sure Mick means well.”

Len grimaces. “You know, I’m not too sure about that,” he says. Barry chuckles lightly. “Also, I can’t help but notice that you and Hartley are best friends now.”

Barry rolls his eyes, shoving Len lightly with a shoulder. “Under all that pretentiousness, he’s actually not too bad. Even Cisco is warming up to him, surprisingly.”

“That is an amazing feat indeed,” says Len, rubbing his thumb into the dip of Barry’s spine. “And Shawna?”

“She gives great advice,” says Barry, but his cheeks turn pink, and he refuses to elaborate at Len’s request.

Caitlin and Cisco return from where they’d been examining the residual damage from Cupid in the hall, tablets in hand. Caitlin snaps her gaze to Len, her eyes narrowing at his blatant disregard of her instructions to rest. Len winces and presses his hands together in a silence plea. Caitlin sighs and carries on with her conversation with Cisco, something regarding the repairs for the cortex.

From the across the room, Hartley heaves a sigh. “I forgot how much I missed the equipment here,” he says. He strokes a finger over the cortex monitor almost longingly. “So many secret panels that come in handy when storing things. Did you know I designed some of them?”

“Yeah?” Len prompts. He knows Hartley’s past employment here has been a sore subject, so he never brings it up, but there’s no stopping the ideas that bloom from the man’s reinterest in the laboratory. He watches as Hartley makes his way over to a section of the wall shielded by double-panel doors.

“This is especially nice,” Hartley says approvingly. “Is this where you keep the Flash suit?”

Caitlin drops her tablet.

Len freezes. He quickly glances to Barry, who’s nodding automatically before he fully understands Hartley’s words, his eyes widening. Shawna and Lisa halt their conversation to stare at Barry, eyebrows raised. Mick continues to ignore them.

Cisco clears his throat. “I have _no_ idea what you’re talking about,” he says unconvincingly. It may have been the nervous finger-guns he made.

Hartley continues, undeterred, “If I’m being honest, I think you could use a new design. The symbol needs some work, don’t you think?”

Barry looks like he’s going into shock.

“Hartley, you idiot,” Lisa cuts in, shooting him a look. “They don’t know that we know.”

Hartley turns to blink at Len and team Flash. “Are you serious?” he asks in disbelief. “How could we _not_ know?”

“Yeah… you guys weren't being very sneaky about it,” chimes Shawna unhelpfully.

“Legs,” is all Mick contributes.

“And we’re not incompetent,” adds Hartley, looking highly offended.

Barry finally unfreezes enough to speak. “Hold on, you knew this whole time? _How?_ ”

“I had some speculations, but it clicked when you used me for your little baiting project,” says Hartley. He makes a face as he recalls the events, but sobers quickly. “The Flash always heads towards two places: S.T.A.R. Labs, and Len’s apartment. This was around the time Len dropped off the grid. It wasn’t hard to put two and two together.”

“I can’t believe this,” mutters Caitlin.

“This information does not leave this room,” Len orders. He should be proud that his rogues are being more observant; it’s what he taught them to do, but this just blindsided him.

“Lenny, relax,” says Lisa. “I already gave them the whole spiel the first time Hartley brought it up.”

Len’s taken aback. “The first time? Where the hell was _I?_ ” he demands.

“Obviously with Barry,” Lisa shoots back, matching his volume. She sighs, rolling her eyes in annoyance. “Look, you don’t need to worry about anything, all right? We’re all good apples here.”

“I’m serious,” Len says. “This is sensitive information that can’t be—”

The rogues collectively groan.

“We get it,” Hartley says, plopping down next to Mick. “You can skip the death threats.”

“You trust us, don’t you, Barry?” asks Lisa.

Barry chews on his lip. Len doesn’t miss the quick glance in his direction.

“You can’t just put him on the spot like—” Len starts, but Barry gently cuts him off.

“Of course I do,” Barry says.

Lisa grins, jumping up from her seat to pull Barry into a tight hug. “You need to steal anything, we’ve got your back,” she says. Barry stares at her until she laughs and says, “Kidding!”

Len still wants to have a talk with them just to be sure they know how important this is, but he thinks it’s best for another day. His ribs are already twinging from standing so long, and he presses a hand against them in an attempt to soothe the ache. Barry notices immediately and helps him to the seat that Mick gives up for him.

“You need any help with the repairs?” Hartley asks, gesturing to the tablet in Cisco’s hands.

Cisco’s hums for a moment, probably trying to verify if the offer is genuine. He seems to think so, however, because he shrugs and says, “Couldn’t hurt having another pair of hands on deck.”

“Mick’s really good at welding,” Hartley says. “I think we can reinforce the entries and exits.”

Len watches them discuss the repair plans, and silently wonders if the rogues could be of use to S.T.A.R. Labs.

It’s just a seedling of an idea, but it’s a start.

x

The rogues are extended invites to the next movie night, but everyone seems to be occupied with previous plans when the time comes. Lisa and Shawna are “shopping”, Mick is tweaking his heat gun, and Caitlin and Hartley are drawing up plans for the new cortex. It’s just Len and Barry tonight.

“Aw’right! Let’s get this movie _rollin’!_ ”

And Cisco.

Len resists the urge to sigh loudly as the scientist wedges himself between him and Barry, clearly not getting the hint. They gaze longingly at each other before Cisco sits up and effectively blocks their view.

Len clears his throat. “Sure you don’t want the comfortable recliner sofa instead, Cisco?”

Cisco keeps his eyes glued to the movie screen, stuffing his mouth full of popcorn. “Nah. There’s something comforting about being in the middle of a friend sandwich.”

Len swallows his groan and sinks deeper into the couch, prepared to endure the torture. He lasts about ten minutes into _Ghostbusters_ before he feels like strangling Cisco. The man seems to miss his mouth with every handful of popcorn, he laughs with his whole body, and he’s like a furnace. Maybe Len is a little biased, but Barry is the perfect temperature of warmth for him.

Len’s prayers are answered when Cisco runs out of popcorn and has to make some more. When the scientist leaves the room, Len doesn’t immediately fill in the gap. He turns, prepared to give Barry a small smile. His heart skips when he sees the look in Barry’s eyes: dark, hungry. Len hasn’t seen this look in ages.

Barry’s presence alone is electrifying. Len doesn't know if something suddenly changed, or maybe this is a thing that has been building over days, but he feels hypersensitive whenever Barry’s in the same room.

Even now, with the movie blaring in the foreground, Len’s focus is solely on the scant inches between them and how he can feel the heat radiating off the other man.

“Len?” Barry murmurs. He slowly reaches over the gap between them, slides his hand up until his fingers wrap around Len’s thigh, and he _squeezes_.

Len’s mouth runs dry. “Yeah?” he croaks, his heart pounding.

Barry moves closer, carefully watching Len’s reaction. When Len doesn’t pull back, Barry leans in, close enough that their breaths mingle together.

“Barry…”

“Kiss me,” Barry whispers.

Their lips meet like two halves of a whole, a reunion of the sweetest kind. Electricity shoots down Len’s spine, setting his nerves alight. His heart does somersaults in his chest, his brain is temporarily out of order as he’s overwhelmed with the feel of Barry, the taste of him, the _sounds_. Len doesn’t realize how much he’s missed this. It’s a million times better without any doubts running through his head; it’s just him and Barry, pure and simple. However, before long, the microwave beeps from down the hall. Barry pulls back abruptly, breathing just as heavily as Len.

“Been wanting to do that for a while,” Len admits. Barry chuckles, but hastily scoots back when Cisco reenters the room and plops down between them.

“You guys want me to turn the AC up?” Cisco asks, ripping open the newly popped bag. “You look a little warm.”

Barry clears his throat, suddenly fascinated with the movie. “I feel fine. How about you, Len?”

Len licks his lips—which turns out to be a terrible idea because he can still taste Barry on them—before he answers. “Actually, it is a little hot in here. Would you mind helping me up to get some water, Barry?”

They end up kissing next to the water dispenser with Len seated in the kitchenette chair and Barry straddling his lap.

They miss more than half of the movie, but Len doesn’t feel too bad about that.

x

“Favorite season?” asks Barry.

“Winter,” answers Len easily.

They're both laying on the couch, side by side, with their legs tangled together as _Grease_ plays in the background.

“Favorite color?” asks Len.

“Hmmm. It used to be red, but now I’m thinking blue,” says Barry. “Yours?”

Len grins. He reaches over to swipe a gentle thumb under Barry’s eye. “Green.”

Barry swats at him playfully, but there’s no denying the blush in his cheeks. “Favorite place?”

“There's a diner my grandfather used to take me and Lisa. Served the best pie there.” He pulls Barry closer. “Maybe I’ll take you there someday.”

“What, like a date?” teases Barry.

“Yeah, like a date,” says Len unashamedly. “I think I owe you a few of those.”

Barry obviously isn’t expecting that answer, if the way he’s looking at Len is any indication. He buries his face in Len chest. “I think I’d like that,” Barry says, voice muffled.

They still have eleven questions to go, but Len is content to lay there, holding Barry close. Besides, they’ll have plenty of time to finish during their dates.

x

Ever since Len and Barry’s kiss during the movie, they just can’t seem to stop. It seems like they’re kissing all the time, though Len isn’t complaining. They’re careful to avoid the prying eyes of Caitlin and Cisco lest they add “kissing” to the list of Things Len Is Not Allowed To Do Until He Heals. It is a long list, surprisingly.

It’s only difficult when Barry’s so close, close enough that their thighs touch and their hips grind together. They’re in the theater room with the lights off, necking like teenagers hiding from their parents. Len doesn't try anything—just keeps his hands above Barry’s waist despite the fact that he can literally feel that Barry’s having a bit of an _issue_ as well. It’s a game of give and take, but Len only wants to give. He presses forward lightly, and is surprised when Barry pulls back and away.

“I think,” Barry pants, “that this is enough for now…”

Len’s already nodding, releasing Barry respectfully. Barry frowns, growing more distressed by the second.

Len finds himself matching the man’s expression. “What’s wrong?”

Barry opens and closes his mouth a few times, an internal struggle seeming to rage inside him. “Screw it,” mutters Barry, clutching at Len’s shirt front.

In a flash, Len’s on the couch, flat on his back with Barry straddling his knees. The man’s hot breath ghosts against Len’s neck before his teeth latch on, sucking a bruise into the skin. Len’s head is still spinning, but he groans and grabs at the back of Barry’s shirt, probably stretching the cotton to hell but Len doesn't care, just wants to keep the other man as close as possible.

“You look so good, all the time,” groans Barry, almost miserably. “I’ve been wanting to, so badly, but I’ve been resisting ‘cause I don’t want to hurt you—is this okay? We can stop—”

“Don’t stop. God, _please_ don’t stop,” Len begs. “Want you, too, Barry…”

“Love it when you say my name,” confesses Barry.

“Barry,” says Len again, this time a whimper.

“Yeah…”

A sharp gasp interrupts them, and Barry pulls back with an audible pop.

Caitlin stares back at them, scandalized.

“Did you find them?” Cisco calls from the cortex before running in. He takes one good look at them and walks right back out.

“No, no, no!” Caitlin chides, raising a finger. “You are not cleared for any strenuous activity, Len! That includes the sexual kind!”

Len feels the heat in the room evaporate along with the mood. Even Barry cringes above him. Hearing Caitlin talk about his sex life is something he never thought he would have to experience.

“Who said he was going to do any of the work?” Barry shoots back, but the second the words escape him, he looks mortified.

Cisco’s bark of laughter echoes through the cortex.

Caitlin presses a palm to her face as Barry quickly gets to his feet. “Please, no. Len’s ribs are still healing. I don’t want to have to ban you from S.T.A.R. Labs, Barry.”

Len bolts up, ready to argue, but his ribs flare in pain and he lets out a choked sound. There are hands pushing him back down to sit, and he goes a bit reluctantly. “He stays,” Len croaks softly.

“No funny business. I am not kidding,” says Caitlin sternly.

“Can I at least _kiss_ my boyfriend?” Barry whines.

Everyone stills. Len sees the blush rising on the other man’s cheekbones, and he's never seen a more beautiful sight.

Barry’s quick to apologize. “I-I’m sorry. I know we didn't talk about this so it's okay if—if—”

“Caitlin,” Len says, interrupting gently. “Can I kiss my boyfriend?”

Caitlin releases a sigh, giving a small smile. “I suppose,” she relents, “but _softly_!”

Len turns to Barry expectantly, tilting his chin up. Barry stares at him with wide eyes, hand still covering half his face in embarrassment. Len cocks an eyebrow. Barry lets out a stunned chuckle before leaning down to press a gentle kiss to his lips.

“Satisfied?” asks Caitlin, and Barry nods without breaking eye contact with Len.

“Hold on,” murmurs Len, tugging Barry down for another kiss, and then another, and another.

“Get the list, Cisco,” calls Caitlin as she leaves the room. Undeterred, Len continues to kiss his boyfriend.

Huh.

His _boyfriend_.

x

Len is making stellar progress with his physical therapy. He’s healed enough that he can jog at a decent pace now, though not quite enough to be able to protect himself if it comes down to it. His wrist is able to rotate properly without too much pain. Best of all, he can press Barry into the wall and kiss him senseless, able to endure the grasping of the other man’s hands at his stomach and chest as he loses himself.

It’s at this point of Len’s recovery that Detective West decides to make an appearance.

Len hasn’t seen or spoken to him since the meta incident, but he knows that Barry has been giving the West family updates of everything relating to S.T.A.R. Labs and its current inhabitants.

Len holds out a hand in greeting, but he’s taken by surprise when West pulls him into a bone-crushing hug that squeezes the breath from his lungs.

“Joe, don’t re-break his ribs!” Barry nearly screeches, pulling him off. West releases Len with a few pats on the back.

“Glad you figured it out,” says West. He cocks his head. “You figured it out, right? Otherwise, I’ve got a cozy seat in the back of the police cruiser.”

Len holds his hands up in surrender. “You got me, detective.”

“Good, good. Then that makes my news even better.” West rubs his hands together, cracking a small grin.

Barry looks surprised. “News?”

“I’ve been talking to Chief Singh about this. He knows you played a big part in the sting involving Cupid. It was a job only a select few could do, which brings me to why I’m here…”

Len’s eyebrows furrow. “Go on,” he says hesitantly.

“If you’re interested, we are in need of a criminal informant. The CCPD needs assets other than the Flash now that more and more metas are making themselves known. Now, before you say anything, it doesn’t take much. Just a few days at the office for the paperwork and your expertise when the need arises.”

“A C.I.?” asks Len. “Why me?”

“You run—or _ran—_ a tight-knit criminal organization. Your street cred is unblemished. It would help us take down Central City’s crime syndicates and other criminal organizations, in addition to select meta-humans... Of course, your name will be left out to preserve your reputation. If you decide you want to start doing some good… then the job available, if you want it.”

Len thinks he would have been stunned into denial if this offer had risen in the past. In reality, he doesn’t even need to think about it. He sees the hope in Barry’s wide eyes, the breath he's holding, and that’s all Len needs.

“Detective,” says Len, holding out his hand.

West takes it, grinning. “That’a boy.”

This time, Barry is the one who nearly breaks Len’s ribs with a hug.

x

True to his word, when Len gets cleared to leave S.T.A.R. Labs, he takes Barry on a date. Len makes it his mission to provide every cliché in the book: the pre-date flowers, the dinner and a movie, the walk under the stars. Barry appreciates every ounce of cheesiness. In fact, he appreciates it so much that he suggests they take things to a more private setting, and Len has just the place.   

They neck like teenagers on the way to the car, all the way to Len’s apartment where there’s a perfectly nice bed waiting for them.

There’s no finesse to it, really; clothes are practically ripped from their bodies and Len thinks he might have pulled a chunk of hair out of Barry’s head the way they’re kissing so roughly. Hands push Len down onto the bed, and he goes willingly as Barry settles over him. Their hands explore each other for what seems like hours before Len breaks their kiss.

“How do you want to…?” Len murmurs, and he nearly passes out when Barry retrieves lube from his pocket and starts to prepare himself right above him. The man is unashamed in his movements, keeping his gaze fixed on Len as his he grinds on his own fingers. Len makes a sound like he’s dying.

“Ready?” Barry murmurs, and Len answers with a broken groan. They both cry out in unison when Barry sinks down, and—fuck—Len’s brain turns to mush.

“Barry,” Len gasps. It’s all he can say; hell, it’s all he can _think_. Just Barry, _BarryBarryBarry…_

Len grips tightly at Barry’s hips; he thinks there would be bruises if he did not heal so quickly. Barry moans above him, grinding his hips on every downward thrust, and Len watches with the sort of reverence reserved for a holy shrine. Barry’s beautiful at any given time, but _especially_ like this—working his hips in a rhythm that makes Len’s toes curl, his lips red and bitten, his hands smoothing over Len’s chest gently, lovingly, careful to avoid his shoulder.

“God, I love you,” breathes Len.

“Yeah?” Barry grins playfully, half-lidded eyes gleaming. “Then show me just how much.”

Len’s never the one to back down from a challenge. He ends up discovering his favorite things about Barry’s body, like the freckle on the back of his knee, and how the dip of his collarbone bruises so easily, and the way his eyes lose focus when Len hits just the right spot.

Most importantly, Len discovers that Barry wasn't kidding about his refractory period.

The knowledge is put to good use—several times.

x

There’s a meeting at S.T.A.R. Labs the next day, and Len can’t stop his grinning as he makes his way to the entrance with a bounce in his step. Barry chuckles beside him, arm looped around his. Len manages to stand still long enough for the newly-added facial scan.

When they enter the cortex, Len is surprised to see balloons and streamers hung up. There’s a giant _Congratulations!_ sign hanging from one end of the cortex to the other. All his rogues are here, lined up neatly behind a large sheet cake covered in white icing. Caitlin and Cisco stand beside the cake, holding glasses of champagne.

Len blinks at them. “What's this all about?”

Cisco clears his throat, raising a glass. “We’re gathered here today for a special celebration. Len, Barry: Congratulations on finally bangin’!”

Len’s jaw drops to the floor and Barry's eyes nearly pop out of his head.

Lisa gasps, before erupting in laughter that shakes her entire body. She has to hang on to Cisco for support—Cisco, who currently looks like he's won the lottery.

“ _Holy_ crap, I was kidding!” Cisco wipes away a tear of mirth. “I didn't think you guys actually did it! This is too good, too good…”

Barry buries his face in Len’s shoulder, groaning miserably. Len’s still too stunned to move, subjected to the pointing and laughing as his rogues get it all out of their systems. Even Caitlin has a hand over her mouth, trying to stifle her laughs.

“What's the real reason we’re here?” Len demands, thoroughly embarrassed.

“Hold on, we placed a few bets on this,” Cisco says, unfolding a piece of paper from his pocket—has he been carrying that this _whole time?_ “Did it happen before or after dinner? During? What time? And try to be accurate; this is important for the over-under.”

When Len manages to stop gaping, he snarls and reaches for the cold gun strapped to his leg. Barry hastily stops him before he can get it out of its holster.

Another round of laughter is made at Len’s expense, and he silently seethes until it ends.

“You are all lucky I’m technically a part of the CCPD now, so I can't be blowing people up anymore.”

Mick swats a hand against Cisco’s arm. “See, I told you they were blowing—”

“Let me shoot them,” Len begs Barry, grasping at his shoulders. “Just a toe each. I'm begging you.”

Barry seriously looks like he’s considering it, but ultimately denies him. “Can we get to the point?” asks Barry.

Cisco reluctantly tucks away the betting sheet. He takes a deep breath and glances at everyone around the room, grin widening. “It seems that… Team Flash and the rogues are going to be working together more in the future.”

Len exchanges a confused look with Barry. “What are you talking about?”

“As you may know, S.T.A.R. Labs is looking better than it has since the previous explosion, all thanks to everyone’s hard work and collaboration on the remodel. And, well… S.T.A.R. Labs needs a few more pairs of hands for things to keep running smoothly, so…”

“You mean…” Len starts, uncertain.

He and Barry both jump in alarm as poppers go off, blasting confetti over their heads.

Lisa swings an arm over Cisco’s shoulder. “New gig, Lenny,” she says, grinning.

Champagne is immediately popped opened and the cake is being cut; throughout it all, Len feels like he’s in a dream. Barry tugs on his arm, and Len glances over to find the biggest grin he's ever seen on the man’s face.

There's still so much to discuss, things to be approved, rules to be changed… but they can figure that out later—after they have a proper celebration and drink their weight in champagne.

“Who would’ve thought?” wonders Barry aloud, threading their fingers together.

Len pulls Barry close, watching their teams fight over who gets a corner slice of cake. He never thought something like this was possible—a group of rejects and a group outcasts melding together to form a wonderful, rag-tag team of misfits. He has his team behind him and the love of his life in his arms.

He _never_ would have thought…

And yet, Len wouldn't change it for the world.

 

**fin.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaand that's a wrap, folks. this story took a year to write (omg!!) and it has finally come to an end. it's bittersweet because this is the first fic of mine that has gotten this much recognition, my baby, and it's finally over. it is honestly so amazing that there are people who like my writing and have stood by me for over a year as i got through this! i am so thankful for each and every comment/kudo/bookmark/ ANYTHING. thank you guys so so much. i do plan on going back and fixing up mistakes (my many plot holes ha ha .... ha...) and i will be doing so that if you guys are ever in the mood to reread, it will make actual sense :)
> 
> AGAIN, thank you so much. this has been a wild ride friends. glad to have been on this journey with you.  
> xx  
> sinplicity


	13. Epilogue

Epilogue – _2 years later_

Today’s the day.

Len’s foot has been tapping against the floor for the past ten minutes as he awaits a call. He’s seated at the kitchen island, staring at the collage of photos on the fridge to try and quell his anxiety. The collection started when Barry decided it was his mission to seek out every photo booth within a forty-mile radius of them during date nights. There are well over two dozen photo strips hung up by magnets, but their very first one is framed in the middle. It’s Len’s favorite.

Their apartment has been getting smaller and smaller every day, but Len thinks it’s because Barry likes to hoard all the little gifts that Len has given him. Their spare bedroom is practically a storage room from all the things Barry hides in there. On one random afternoon, Len even stumbled upon the bear he won Barry at the carnival they went to nearly two years ago. He’s touched, really, but Len’s apartment is only so big.

He thinks it’s time for a new place, one that can fit the two of them and maybe more… but that decision is highly dependent on how tonight goes. Tonight...

It’s another ten minutes of agony before his phone rings.

“Is everything ready?” Len asks hurriedly, straight to the point.

“Yes,” says Lisa patiently. Len can hear her eyes roll. “Are _you_ ready?”

Len swallows nervously. He’s taking Barry to a romantic dinner, where he will propose, followed by a celebratory party at S.T.A.R. Labs. That’s supposed to be the plan for tonight.

He’s going to propose to Barry.

He’s going to _propose_ to _Barry_.

He’s not freaking out.

“You’re freaking out, aren’t you?” chirps Lisa over speakerphone.

Len feels like his heart hasn’t stopped racing for hours. His palms are sweaty, and his skin feels too tight for his body. “No,” he says, and then immediately admits, “Yes.”

“It’ll be fine,” Lisa assures him. “The party’s all set for when he says yes—”

“ _If_ he says yes—”

“ _When_ he does,” Lisa continues confidently. “The team will all be here; Iris is getting the cake ready, Joe and Eddie are finishing up their shift. It’ll be fine, Lenny. Now get here and pick up the ring—I have to get more champagne.”

Len releases a breath. “It’ll be fine,” he repeats, mostly to convince himself.

After all, he’s already gotten Henry Allen’s permission, after tracking him down and making a very good case on why he should be allowed to take Barry’s hand in marriage. Len even made sure to ask Joe for good measure, which earned him another bone-crushing hug. Both of Barry’s fathers will be present at the wedding, which is something Len is sure that Barry will appreciate.

Len takes one of the many routes to S.T.A.R. Labs, making sure to use a different one every time to avoid another crisis similar to the one Hartley brought up. They’ve been taking more protective measures recently, what with Len being a C.I. and his rogues working at the lab. He stands through the facial scan and presses his thumb into the fingerprint scanner, followed by today’s password: proposal.

Len makes a note to rule Cisco out for password picking.

The new halls are adorned with photos of the team, newspaper clippings, and souvenirs from road trips across the globe. The first thing Len sees when he enters the renovated cortex is their Board of Goodness—obviously Caitlin’s idea.

The board has photos of the rogues, complete with X’s marking when they’ve committed a crime and stars for when they’ve done something especially good. Lisa has over a dozen stars. Mick has half of one. Of course, the rogues never try any big crimes anymore, just the occasional small thefts that Cisco and Caitlin are desperately trying to fix. At this point, Len thinks the rogues only do it to mess with them, since Mick is busy as the lab’s engineer, Hartley as a technician, and Lisa and Shawna as the lab’s meta hunters. Besides, they always return what they steal… Len hopes.

Lisa meets him in the cortex and hands him the small, black box that immediately feels like a hundred pounds in his hands. It’s their grandmother’s ring—kept in a safety deposit box that the siblings spent weeks hunting down. Len opens the box and studies the ring in wonder—it’s a simple, silver band with small diamonds encrusted around the ring. Lisa is positive that Barry will love it. Len hopes everything goes okay.

x

Everything goes wrong.

First of all, Barry is held up at the lab for an extra two hours because there’s a break in the case involving some new meta-human that has been surfacing.

Secondly, the meta he’s _currently_ investigating is demanding a meeting with him—some young thief by the name of Johnny.

And third, Len’s wearing his nicest suit and tie when he gets jumped by Johnny’s brother.

He’s not even angry that someone actually has the nerve to jump him—he’s angry that his three-hundred-dollar tie is now ripped to shreds. Some people have the decency to let Len walk into abandoned warehouses on his own two feet, but no—this time he was tossed inside from the back of a van.

It’s just rude.

Honestly, Len was going to let this guy off without a scratch, but damaging his suit was the last straw.

It’s like a script at this point: Len takes a few punches for setting someone up, he baits them to admit what he’s been investigating all along, and then Joe and Eddie come in at the last possible second for the arrest.

“Right on time, as always,” drawls Len, holding a palm to his bruised eye.

“Aren’t you supposed to be on a date?” Eddie asks, cocking his eyebrow with the thief struggling in his grip.

“I _was_ ,” says Len, shooting an accusing glare at the meta. “It’s fine. Barry’s still at the lab, so I have some time.”

Joe looks up from where he’s been examining the corners of the warehouse. “What are you talking about? He left before we did.”

Len practically bolts from the warehouse, Joe’s calls of “Go get him!” echoing behind him.

He makes it to the restaurant in record time, alarming the hostess with his appearance. She quickly directs him to the outside of the restaurant at the name of the reservation.

Barry’s already sitting at their private table on the quiet balcony, his head propped up on his hand as he swirls the wine in his glass. Len’s stunned as he takes in how beautiful Barry looks, with the moonlight shining down on him and the candlelight casting a warm glow on his features. He gasps softly, feeling so utterly lucky to have this man in his life.

Barry turns his head at the small sound, eyes landing on Len’s. “Oh my—” He jumps to his feet so fast that the chair falls backwards. “Are you okay?”

“Sorry I’m late,” says Len as Barry rushes over.

Barry frowns at him, hands roaming over the rips in Len’s shirt. “What happened?”

Len shakes his head, greets Barry with a kiss. It’s only been less than a day and already Len has missed him so much. “I’m okay. Just another meta-human, but he’s been booked.”

“Your eye,” murmurs Barry, fingers ghosting over it. Len kisses the pads of his fingers before pressing another one to his lips.

“S’part of the job,” Len reminds him softly.

“I know,” replies Barry sadly, “but that doesn’t mean I have to like it when you get hurt.” He presses a gentle kiss to the forming bruise.

“Shall we?” Len asks. Barry nods, and Len goes to right the chair on the floor.

Their dinner goes better than planned, but really, Len is just happy to spend time with Barry. He sees the man every single day, wakes up to him and goes to sleep beside him every night, yet Len still feels like he can never get enough. He wants Barry, always, endlessly, forever.

His hand fits over the ring in his pocket. Barry’s talking about one of his cases, getting the sparkle in his eyes that he always gets whenever he’s talking about something he loves. It’s the same look Barry has whenever he speaks of Len.

Len reaches out to hold the hand Barry has on the table, and he squeezes lightly. “I love you,” he says softly, swiping a thumb over the back of his hand.

Barry grins shyly at him. After two years, he still manages to blush like he had when they’d just started dating. “I love you, too… Thank you for this, by the way. It’s been a while since we were able to—”

“ _SNART!_ ” roars a voice from inside the restaurant.

Len and Barry whip their gazes to the balcony door before locking eyes again.

Len wants to drop to his knees and shout at the sky because seriously? _Two_ meta attacks on the day he’s supposed to propose? Len just can’t catch a break. A part of Len wants to act like he didn’t hear anything, but then plates start being cracked.

They both bolt up from their seat.

He barely makes it two steps into the restaurant before hands grab his shoulders and he’s being flipped over someone’s appetizer.

“Well, that wasn’t very nice,” says Len with a glare as he picks himself up from the restaurant floor. The meta-human known as Johnny—who has yet to get a nickname because Cisco doesn’t find him worthy enough—scowls at him.

“Not nice?” Johnny barks. “You want to know what’s not nice? Having the cops show up to raid my hideout. I barely escaped!”

“Look, it’s not my fault you didn’t do a very good job at being discreet,” says Len as he dusts himself off. Civilians watch the scene in stunned horror. The hostess backs away slowly, phone in hand.

“This was all going fine until I brought you into this,” says Johnny, narrowing his eyes. “I know it was you who screwed me over.”

Len sighs. “Kid, I’m only going to say this once. You’re going to stop making a scene, because you’re interrupting a very important dinner, and then you’re going to stop making explosives in your garage. _Capiche?_ ”

Johnny growls at him. “How dare you—I could light you on fire before you could even blink!”

Len blinks. As expected, he isn’t on fire yet. “Johnny, you can light a candle with your mind. A _candle_.”

Enraged, Johnny comes at him, swinging his arms. Len sidesteps him easily. He thinks about the ring in his pocket and tries his best to lean that side of him away to protect it from damage. A part of him wants to clock Johnny and end this quickly, but he doesn’t think he can take the guilt from punching someone who’s barely legal to drink alcohol.

All the while, red streaks around them and the civilians begin to disappear one by one. It used to be a heated argument between him and Barry—what to do if anything like this ever happened. They both have dangerous jobs that can end badly, but they decided: civilians always come first, despite how every inch of Len yearns for Barry’s safety.

Johnny notices the disappearing civilians too late, only when the restaurant is empty save for the two of them.

“It’s over,” says Len. “The cops will be here soon.”

Len expects Johnny to put up a fight—though he doesn’t expect the man to pull out what looks like a detonator.

“You ratted me out,” accuses Johnny. His hand shakes as it grips the remote. “My brother was taken ‘cause of you.”  

“What are you doing, Johnny?” asks Len, his eyes narrowing.

“You’re going to tell me why you set me up, or I’m going to blow us both up.”

“That hardly makes any sense—”

“ONE!” Johnny starts.

Len doesn’t dare move. He sees Barry’s red streaks circling around the restaurant, trying to locate the explosives.

“You’re selling your explosives to the wrong people,” says Len calmly. “People that do very bad things. You needed to be stopped.”

With an angered cry, Johnny shoves at Len. He trips backwards on a stray chair and catches himself roughly against the wall. Something clatters to the ground, and Len realizes with a start that it’s the ring box.

“What is that?” Johnny demands.

“You need to calm down—”

“ _What is it?_ ”

“It’s nothing—”

“I’m so _sick_ of your _lies_ , Snart—”

_Ping!_

Johnny crumbles to the floor, revealing Barry behind him with a serving tray in hand.

Len’s back is still pressed against the wall as he tries to catch his breath. He stares at Barry, whose elbows are still crooked from his left swing. Barry pants in turn, finding Len’s eyes. He drops his elbows, shoulders relaxing, as he releases a breathless—and slightly hysteric—laugh.

Len’s chest explodes with fondness for the man before him.

“Close call,” murmurs Len as Barry tosses the tray onto the table.

“Are you okay?” Barry asks, and Len nods. They both look down at Johnny’s slumped figure. “Joe will be here soon to book him. The civilians are all at the police department. Explosives were disarmed.” Barry slowly grabs the detonator from Johnny’s limp hand and places it on one of the tables. Len suddenly remembers to grab the ring box from the ground, relieved to see that it is undamaged.

It doesn’t go unnoticed by Barry. “What is that?” he asks, eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

Len glances down at the ring box in his hand. He stares at it silently before determination sweeps over him. This isn’t how Len wanted things to go, in a deserted restaurant with his clothes torn and an unconscious meta-human on the ground.

He wanted this to be perfect—fancy dinner, expensive champagne, romantic view under the moon—but… maybe perfect moments are overrated. The team will still be waiting at S.T.A.R. Labs with congratulations to give, Joe will be in happy tears (that he will deny to his grave), and Len will continue to love Barry with his entire being.

“I can’t wait any longer,” Len says, shaking his head.

Barry blinks at Len as he closes the distance between them. “Wait for what?”

Len takes Barry’s hands, his heart fluttering as Barry automatically squeezes back. “I had this whole night planned down to the socks I would wear, the wine we would drink, the music that would play, but God, Barry, I just can’t wait anymore…”

Barry's eyes are wide as Len slowly gets down on one knee.

“You are… the most important person in my life. My moon and my stars. My sun and my sky. I never thought I could love someone this much until you came along. You make me the happiest man in the world—and the luckiest… You are the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me. I love you, Barry Allen, with all of my heart… and I would like to spend the rest of my life by your side, forever.” Len opens the ring box slowly, watching as Barry’s hand flies over his mouth in shock.

“Len,” Barry says, choked. He’s got tears in his eyes and a smile on his lips; Len thinks he’s the most beautiful thing in the world.

Len takes a deep breath, feeling his heart thud against his chest. “Will you marry me?”

Barry’s grinning through his tears, nodding his head before Len’s even finished the question. “Yes,” he says shakily, without hesitation. “Yes, yes, _yes_.”

Len’s heart jolts as the anxiety leaves him, flooding him with relief. He can’t help the way his eyes water with joy. Barry’s hand is shaking as Len gently slips the ring onto his finger. It looks perfect there, like it belongs.

Len doesn’t get to admire it for long; Barry pulls him back up, hands gentle at his jaw, before their lips meet desperately.

“I love you,” Barry gasps against his lips. “I love you so much.”

They kiss and kiss and kiss until the tears in their eyes begin to trickle down their cheeks. Len pulls Barry close to his chest, burying his face in the man’s hair. Barry clutches at Len’s back, shaking with happiness.

“I love you,” Len murmurs.

They sway gently in the middle of the restaurant, Johnny still knocked out cold in the corner.

Barry finally pulls back, his eyes crinkling in the corners as he grins at Len. “You know what this means, right?”

“Hmm?”

“Lisa’s going to fight us on the wedding plans,” Barry says. “We might not get a single word in.”

Len groans. “That’s your sister-in-law,” he reminds Barry.

Barry chuckles, not bothered in the slightest. “For better or for worse, right?”

Len takes Barry’s hand again, bringing it to his lips.

“For better or for worse,” Len agrees. He presses a kiss to his knuckle, just above the ring.

Maybe guys like him do get a happy ending after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the actual, actual end, friends. thank you so much for reading. i will be going through and editing past a/n's as to not disrupt our kindle reading friends. so much love for you guys, thank you.


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